


The Best Parts

by pieandsouffles



Category: Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies)
Genre: Angst, Bardo, Cuddling & Snuggling, Dreams, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, First Kiss, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Mind Meld, Oblivious Spock, Pining Kirk, Spock in Denial, T'hy'la, Tarsus IV, Vulcan Kiss
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-24
Updated: 2014-04-15
Packaged: 2018-01-16 20:05:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 13
Words: 49,541
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1360069
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pieandsouffles/pseuds/pieandsouffles
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Jim died, he left a door open in his mind, and in between life and death, the mind seeks its own purgatory.  Thanks to insomnia, sleep paralysis, visions of a botched eugenics experiment, and a planet Jim swears he's forgotten, the Captain's dreams begin to blend with reality.  </p><p>When you cannot be your own anchor, who can you rely on to remind you of the best parts of yourself?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. A Kind of Sleep (Jim)

**Author's Note:**

> Title and chapter titles taken from Oliver Twist by Charles Dickens.

Darkness. Pitch black tar antimatter absence of light.  Air like water like solid like rock.

I can’t move.  Moving means body means nerves and muscles and pulling tensing heartbeat racing synapses firing

I can’t move.

My hands come online. 

Pinpricks racing burning searing scorching fingers twitching waiting searching.

It spreads.  I have toes, arms, legs, torso, mouth, nose.

White light pours through the pitch.  Fills the corners and the sky acclimates to a pale blue powdered with clouds, cotton hanging suspended.

I identify corn.  Green and yellow and stretching like the sea outside of San Francisco Bay.

_San Francisco Bay?_

But here, there is corn, and the breeze light as it flows across my newfound skin.  It feels like water.

Ripples gusting wind is searching and my soul is the sky.

The corn is gone, and in its place are holes of light – they are

_Stars._

Galaxies swirling and turning and I am space and free of time and body stardust in motion and in stasis.

My atoms stop and swirl and there it is –

A ship.

_The Narada? The Kelvin?_

A spark of memory a flash of truth and I bury it deep within the empty space between dark constellations.

The bridge. A man with hair like sun and eyes like sea, flames and death.

“What are we gonna call him?”

“We could name him after your father.”

“Tiberius? You kidding me? No, that’s the worst. Let’s name him after your dad. Let’s call him Jim.”

“Jim. Ok, Jim it is.”

“Sweetheart, can you hear me?”

“I hear you!”

“I love you so much. I love you-” the clash of metal the roar of explosion and

My name is Jim.

I am back with the air that is water and the corn that stretches like an ocean and I am flying.

The car rumbles beneath me, like the engines of the ship, of the _Kelvin_ , and I forget the sickening sound of destruction as I lose myself in the chase.

I chase adrenaline, a brush with death, the devil himself.  

The wind blows back my hair and I scream as I drive, quarry coming and closing and I change gears and _leap_

Scrabbling at the dirt hands clawing for purchase and I feel a fingernail come loose and the pain shoots through my hand but it is lost in the pleasure disappointment of dodging the end once again.

Too coward to end it, too stubborn to die.

“Is there a problem, Officer?”

“Citizen, what is your name?”

“My name is James Tiberius Kirk!”

Rotting flesh in the air and I submerge the memory, drown it next to the _Narada_ in the black holes of my consciousness.  I have forgotten that chapter.

A mother absent, a stepfather with a fist of iron, and I’m in a bar with the lights down low, looking for a quick lay to take the edge off before I wind up turning back to the needle.

She doesn’t make it easy, and I end up bloodied and bruised, but the pain feels good as it shoots through my skull, screams _alive alive alive_

“You know, I couldn’t believe it when the bartender told me who you are.”

“Who am I, Captain Pike?”

“Your father’s son.”

“Can I get another one?”

“For my dissertation, I was assigned the USS _Kelvin._   Something I admired about your dad: he didn’t believe in no-win scenarios.”

_The test itself is a cheat, isn't it? I mean, you programmed it to be unwinnable._

_Your argument precludes the possibility of a no-win scenario._

_I don’t believe in no-win scenarios._

_Then not only did you violate the rules, you also failed to understand the principal lesson._

 “Sure learned his lesson.”

_Please, enlighten me._

_You of all people should know, Cadet Kirk, a Captain cannot cheat death._

“Well, it depends on how you define winning. You’re here, aren’t you?”

_I of all people._

“Thanks.”

“You know that instinct to leap without looking – that was his nature, too.  And in my opinion it’s something Starfleet’s lost.”

“Why are you talking to me, man?”

“’Cause I looked up your file while you were drooling on the floor. Your aptitude tests are off the charts, so what is it?  D’you like being the only genius level repeat offender in the Midwest?”

“Maybe I love it.”

“Look, so your dad dies.  You can settle for a less than ordinary life, or do you feel like you’re meant for something better? Something special?

“Enlist in Starfleet.”

“Enlist! You must be way down on your recruiting quota for the month-”

“If you’re half the man your father was, Jim, Starfleet could use you. You could be an officer in four years. You could have your own ship in eight. You understand what the Federation is, don’t you? It’s important. It’s a peacekeeping and humanitarian armada-”

“Are we done?”

“I’m done.  Riverside shipyard. Shuttle for new recruits leaves tomorrow, 0800.

“Your father was Captain of a Starship for twelve minutes. He saved eight hundred lives, including your mother’s and yours.  I dare you to do better.”

_Who am I, Captain Pike?_

I am James Tiberius Kirk.

“How did you find me?”

“I know you better than you think I do. The first time I found you, it was in a dive like this.  Remember that?  You got your ass handed to you.”

“No, I didn’t.”

“You don’t?”

“No, that’s not what happened.”

“That was an epic beating.”

“No, it wasn’t.”

“You had napkins hanging out of your nose.  Did you not?”

“Yeah, that was a good fight.”

“A good fight? I think that’s your problem right there.

“They gave her back to me.  The _Enterprise_.”

“Congratulations.  Watch your back with that First Officer, though.”

“Spock’s not gonna be working with me, he’s been transferred.  USS _Bradbury_.  You’re gonna be my First Officer.

“Yeah, Marcus took some convincing.  But every now and then, I can make a good case.”

“What… what did you tell him?”

“The truth.  That I believe in you.  And if anybody deserves a second chance, it’s Jim Kirk.”

_Citizen, what is your name?_

My name is James Tiberius Kirk.

Pain blossoms like wildflowers through my body, great blooms and buds and small shoots of thorns on my skin as the air burns and sears and takes what it owns. 

Who do I belong to, if not to my lady?

“How’s our ship?”

“Out of danger.”

“Good.”

“You saved the crew.”

“You used what he wanted against him.  That’s a nice move.”

“It is what you would have done.”

“And this… this is what you would have done.  It was only logical.

“I’m scared, Spock.  Help me not be.  How do you choose not to feel?”

“I do not know.  Right now, I am failing.”

“I want you to know why I couldn’t let you die… why I went back for you.”

“Because you are my friend.”

_The purpose is to experience fear, fear in the face of certain death, to accept that fear, and maintain control of oneself and one's crew. This is the quality expected in every Starfleet captain._

_I dare you to do better._

_Who am I, Captain Pike?_

_Citizen, what is your name?_

My name is James Tiberius Kirk.

 

My brain comes online.

Inhale.

***

Clean cold antiseptic surgical medicinal and it smells like Sickbay which means

I open my eyes.

“Oh, don’t be so melodramatic.  You were _barely_ dead.  It was the transfusion that really took its toll. You were in a coma for two weeks.” 

 _Bones_. 

I blink rapidly, attempting to identify my surroundings.  Looks like Starfleet – the hospital, definitely.   Bones is fiddling with something and suddenly relief fills muscles I hadn’t realized were sore – damn, it feels like every part of me has been blast apart with a phaser and glued back together, piece by unworthy piece.  My skin prickles uncomfortably, almost as if it’s new, like my nerves still aren’t used to being connected to my body.

“Transfusion?”

“Your cells were heavily irradiated.  We had no choice.”

Memories start to flood back – the radiation chamber, the desperation of kicking the warp core back into place, using every last ounce of my strength to raise a hand in a futile salute –

“Khan?”

“Once we caught him, I synthesized a serum from his superblood.  Tell me, are you feeling homicidal, power-mad, despotic?”

I nearly laugh.  “No more than usual.  How’d you catch him?” 

“I didn’t.”  And then Bones steps out of the way and –

 _Spock_.

He looks tired, I think, as he steps towards me.  Is Bones still here?  I’m not sure, because all I can see is the exhaustion in Spock’s eyes, the way his Starfleet uniform sits neatly on his shoulders, how the grey fabric contrasts with the green tint of his skin and the chocolate of his irises.  My breath sticks in my throat.

_He’s alive._

“You saved my life.”

“Uhura and I had something to do with it too, you know,” Bones says, but I’m not listening, because all my brain can process right now is that Spock is standing in front of me, that he is alive, that he saved my life.  And, distantly, comes relief that I didn’t tell him the truth in that chamber, that I let him think –

“You saved my life, Captain, and the lives of the-”

I need him to stop talking, right now, so I interrupt, “Spock, just… thank you.”  I can’t go back there, not yet.  I can’t let myself think about, and so I submerge the memories in the cold stars of my mind, hidden in the black space between galaxies.

“You are welcome, Jim.”

_Let’s call him Jim._

I pause.  “You look exhausted, Spock,” I say, trying to attempt a grin.  My facial muscles feel strange, like they’re stretching and pulling, trying to get the expression into place.  Tight, painful, new.

“I have received adequate rest.”

“Bullshit,” comes Bones’ voice from the other end of the room.  I can’t see what he’s doing, nor do I care to find out, because it probably involves a hypo.  “The hobgoblin there’s been your shadow, night and day.  Hardly left your lame-ass side,” Bones continues, returning to the biobed bearing a hypospray.    

“The Doctor’s assessment is an exaggeration.  I have left in order to attend requisite meetings.”

“Yeah, and that’s _it_ ,” Bones complains as he loads the device. 

“No, come on Bones, I don’t – ah! Fuck!” I cry as he slams the needle against my neck.  I can feel whatever was inside the hypo spreading through my veins, icy against the prickling heat of new skin and cells.  It’s an uncomfortable sensation. 

“They aren’t supposed to hurt, Jim, if you’d just stay still,” Bones says as he claps me on the shoulder and moves to leave the room.  “Spock, I’m giving you two minutes and then I want you gone.  The painkiller I just gave Jim should knock him out soon-”

“Dammit, Bones!”

“-and it’ll keep him under for a good eight hours or so.  More than enough time for you to go home for some meditation.  See Uhura.  _Anything_ besides hovering around my patient.” 

I wasn’t sure, but it looked like Spock had tensed slightly when Bones mentioned Uhura.  I wonder if there’s been trouble, there, since the – well.

Spock looks like he has something to say back, but as he opens his mouth the door swishes shut behind Bones.  He continues to stand there, at my side, looking at an indeterminate point behind my shoulder.  Maybe at my vital signs.  The minutes stretch, and I can feel everything gathering between us – there’s a story, I’m sure, and it’s only a matter of time before we’re going to have to talk about it.

“So, night and day, huh?” I say, trying to relieve some of the tension. 

“That is irrelevant at this time.  I will return when the pain medication has worn off, so as to “fill you in,” as I believe you would call it.” 

I smile weakly, enough that the muscles around my mouth are not strained too terribly.  “Sounds good.” 

“Would you also be amenable to a game of chess at that time?” 

I nod weakly as a numbness begins to steal over my tired limbs.  “Yeah, chess… chess is good.”  Spock is starting to blur, but he doesn’t move, just stays there, stoic Vulcan features unreadable as I slip towards unconsciousness.

As my vision fades to black, I think I feel hot fingers brush over my own. 

***

I open my eyes after what seems like way too short a time.

 _What the fuck_?

The various tubes, wires – the even the stupid IV – are gone, unattached.  The room is dark, with none of the familiar beeping and whirring of hospital machines.  In fact, it’s like the entire vicinity is silent – the absence of sound presses in on my ears, and I start to feel uncomfortable.

“Bones!” I call out, because something is seriously wrong.  The air folds itself around my words, almost seems to dampen them, muffle their effect.  There is no echo, no reverberation of the sound waves off the barren walls. 

Cautiously, I stand.  My legs hold, which I take as a good sign, and I stumble blindly to find a light.  Weird, the sun shouldn’t have set yet, and I know there’s a window in the room, but I can’t even find that. 

The hospital gown gathers strangely around my waist, and I tug it closer to me, tying it tighter in the back.  I don’t really want to be wandering around a Starfleet hospital partially naked.  I’m not sure my reputation could survive that. 

The linoleum floor is cold on my feet, and I shiver, drawing my arms around my body.  Where is Spock?  He was supposed to be here when I woke up.  Maybe Bones fucked up the hypo, and I hadn’t been out for the full eight hours. 

Still doesn’t explain why the fuck the room is dark and empty. 

The hairs on the back of my neck rise, and I feel a familiar instinctual call – 

Someone is behind me. 

I stand perfectly still, and out of the darkness comes slow, steady breathing.  It’s a man, that much I can tell – about four steps behind me, breathing so lightly I probably wouldn’t have heard it, if there had been any noise in the room at all. 

I gather myself to turn and fight – it doesn’t seem I have much of a choice.  If I can incapacitate him somehow, I might have a chance of reaching medical personnel and alerting them to the situation. 

Where the fuck is Spock?

The man takes another step towards me.  I can hear his heartbeat. 

I whirl around, coil my upper body to deliver a punch that would lay basically any person flat, and –

I haven’t moved. 

My body is completely stationary.  My legs do not respond to my commands, and my hands hang uselessly at my sides, curled into loose fists.  I can’t even close my eyes.  The dim blue light emitting from a singular machine on the far right wall illuminates the shadowy scene, and I realize that I am paralyzed. 

He takes another step, and now I can hear his blood rushing in his veins, his heartbeat faster than that of a normal man, and I feel as if he’s somehow achingly familiar, but I can’t see him.  I can’t move. 

Another step.  His breath ghosts my neck.  I am screaming, screaming at my muscles to move, to react, to fight, but all I can do is stand there uselessly. 

I am going to die.

_Where is Spock?_

“Captain,” he says. 

I know that voice.

“You saved your crew…”

I try to steady my breathing, but my heartbeat is racing and I feel fury consuming me, a blood red tide of anger and

_You almost killed him killed them my ship and you’re gone but you almost killed SPOCK_

“Can they save you?”

And then my mouth is open and I am screaming, screaming Spock’s name, and Khan is laughing in my ear and the sound is driving me insane

My muscles move. 

“Jim!  Jim, calm down – Spock, pass me that hypo – Jim, Jesus!”

My eyes fly open and I am back in the biobed, and the lights are on and Bones is jamming a hypospray into my skin and I am breathing hard and fast and my heart is sending the monitors off the charts

“Spock, can’t you calm him down somehow?” Bones roars as he works to ensure there isn’t something else wrong with me but I can’t seem to speak in order to tell him that it’s okay and I still can’t move my legs or my arms I am paralyzed and he doesn’t know

Spock appears in my vision, but as he moves to approach the biobed, he reveals behind him Khan, who is standing in the corner of the room, a deadly smile on his lips

I am yelling so loudly I would be hoarse if only my mouth was moving, because no sound is coming out since I can’t feel my body and

Spock grasps my hand. 

“Captain,” he says, squeezing my hand tightly.  “Captain,” he repeats.  “Jim.” 

All my muscles go lax.  I blink once, and Khan disappears – he was never there in the first place, and the darkened room of minutes before had just been a dream. 

“Spock,” I whisper, and I find that I’m unwilling to let go of his hand.  I wonder if Spock can project emotions through his touch telepathy, because I find myself growing calm, and I focus intently on Spock’s eyes.  They are blown wide with fright, and I realize I was the one to put that fear there. 

“You are safe, Jim,” he says, shifting closer to the biobed. 

“Safe.  Yeah.”  I remember that Bones is still standing there, so I tear my gaze away from Spock, although I do not lessen my grip. 

“What the fuck was that?”

“Sleep paralysis,” Bones replies gruffly, and I notice that his hands are shaking slightly.  “Your mind wakes up before your body does.  It can sometimes cause hallucinations – did you see anything unusual?”

I shake my head.  He doesn’t need to know. 

“Right,” Bones says, even though I can tell he doesn’t completely believe me.  He adjusts something else on the monitors and turns to exit the room. 

“Don’t wear him out, Spock,” he says.  I release Spock’s hand as Bones closes the door. 

He drags a chair over to my bedside.  “You lied.”

“Reading my mind, Mr. Spock?” I tease, and he raises one flawless eyebrow in response.  I can’t help but laugh. 

“Captain, I would never invade-”

“It’s all right, Spock, I know,” I say quickly.  “And quit it with the “Captain,” okay?  We aren’t on duty.”

Spock nods once, and his eyes are restless.  They continuously move over my body, almost as if he is double checking to ensure I really am here, alive and awake. 

“Yes, I lied,” I say, finally responding to his unspoken question.  “Bones doesn’t need to be bothered with my nightmares.” 

Spock nods again, seemingly content with my answer, or perhaps aware that it is the only answer I am prepared to give. 

“Status on the _Enterprise_?”

Spock finally turns his gaze to meet mine.  “Damage was extensive.  Repairs are estimated to take ten to twelve months.”

It’s like I’ve been kicked in the solar plexus.  A year, grounded.  I shove down the panic that’s blooming like a gruesome flower inside my chest.

“Lieutenant Commander Scott, however, believes he may be able to expedite the process.” 

“What do you think?”

Spock pauses.  “Mr. Scott is capable of a great many things.  I am not certain this is one of them.”

I nod.  Repairs were repairs, plain and simple, and people had to sleep.  It was to be expected that they would take this long – the toll on the ship had been incredible.  I wondered what everyone would do with their year off – hell, I didn’t know what _I_ would do.  Die of boredom, probably.  Hang out with Spock.  Unless –

“You’re going to New Vulcan, aren’t you?”

There is no doubting it this time – Spock’s face closes off, his eyes hardening just slightly, and his body stiffens.  “That would be… logical.” 

I feel something sinking inside me, submerging itself in a pool of self-pity and misery.  “Yeah.  Yeah, it would be.” 

“It is not, however, what I intend to do.  I plan on resuming my teaching post with Starfleet for the duration of the repairs.” 

Relief surges through me like adrenaline, and I know it shows on my face.  I temper the reaction, and say, “Spock, if you want to go to New Vulcan, you shouldn’t feel like you need to stay here.  The repairs will get on by themselves.  We’ve got hundreds of people working on them.”

Spock does that thing where he almost smiles – just a small upward turn of his lips and a raised eyebrow, but it means the world. 

“You forget, Jim, that I can be in two places at once.  I have commitments here on Terra to which I must attend.” 

I am still stuck on the beginning part of the sentence, my mouth hanging open like a fool.  Spock’s eyes glitter. 

“You _know_?” 

“Yes.”

“That-” I sputter.  “That _bastard_!  My life would’ve been so much easier if I could’ve just _told_ you!”

Spock remains silent, but his eyes betray entertainment.

“Unbelievable.  We are gonna have _words_ as soon as I get out of this damn hospital.” 

Spock’s not-smile widens.  “I was not aware you were still in contact with my counterpart.”

“Yeah, we talk from time to time.”  I pause.  “I think he misses his Kirk.”

Spock’s not-smile fades.  “You are not the same person, and it is not fair of him to try-”

“No, I don’t think he’s looking for a replacement,” I say hurriedly.  “Besides, I’d make a poor substitute.”

“Clarify.” 

“Well…” I hesitate.  “The way he talks about the Jim of his timeline – the man was a hero, Spock.  Prized Starfleet Captain.  The golden boy of the Federation.  That’s not me.”

“You have saved the world twice, and the lives of your crew many more times than that.  You sacrificed your life for them.  You have given everything to service of the Federation.  I fail to see the logic in your assertion.”

I sigh.  “Spock, I’m not – the other Jim.  He was _good_.  I – I’m not.” 

Spock opens his mouth, like he’s going to argue, and so I cut across him. 

“Where’s that chess board you said you were gonna bring?  It’s probably been too long since someone’s beaten you, seeing as I’ve been practically dead for two weeks.”  I give him my most charming smile and hope he drops the subject of my counterpart.

Spock raises an eyebrow, but doesn’t comment on the change of topic.  “Indeed, playing against a computer is not nearly as stimulating as playing against a real opponent.”

“Go easy on me.  I did die.”

Spock looks rather scandalized.  “I do not believe that will be necessary.”

 

He is right.  I win.

“Come back tomorrow?” I ask, yawning as Spock puts away the chess board.  It is late – I had insisted on another game, and Spock had reluctantly obliged.  I enjoy playing chess with Spock nearly as much as I like sparring with him; it provides an outlet from whatever is going on in my usually fucked-up brain.

“Of course, Jim.”


	2. The Mere Silent Presence (Spock)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> lol have a chapter early because my grades came in yesterday and they were gr9 <33

I depart Starfleet’s medical facility, deftly avoiding confrontation with Doctor McCoy on my way out.  Doubtless he would wish to discover if the Captain and I had discussed the events surrounding Khan, a subject that I did not desire to bring up with the Captain until he determined he was prepared to speak of it.  Jim’s mental state is often a fragile thing after a difficult mission, and he takes time to process his emotions.  Given that he cannot leave the hospital due to his physical state, I am willing to grant him that time.

Doctor McCoy, however, is not.  I am certain that he will attempt to talk to the Captain, and I am equally sure that the Captain will resist those efforts.

I walk quickly and efficiently, acutely aware of the curious stares that follow me as I traverse the damaged pathways of Starfleet’s headquarters.  The crash of the _Vengeance_ had not only killed thousands; it had also incurred millions of credits in damage that would need to be repaired.  Green rage flares in my vision once again as I think of the damage Khan wrought here, of the wasted lives and the talent Starfleet lost in the attack.  I think of how it felt to slam my fists into his head, over and over again, and the wave of primal anger that washed over me when Uhura prevented me from murdering the man that had taken him –

 _Kroykah_. 

Mentally barricading that thought, the memories recede into the files that comprise my mind, ready for recall at any moment.  Now is not the time.  I am in control of my emotions.

I tuck my chess set under my arm as I reach the Officer’s quarters I have been temporarily assigned.  I key in my entry code and walk down a long, impersonal hallway until I reach the room at the end.  Slightly larger than the others, I suspect it was given to me out of a misplaced sense of gratitude. 

I do not deserve their gratitude.  I was nearly responsible for ending the life of my Captain, and my friend. 

_Kup-fun-tor ha'kiv na'ish du stau?_

He is alive.  That is all that matters.

I enter my apartment to find Nyota waiting for me.  I gave her the code to my quarters shortly after we began our courtship, yet her presence surprises me.  She has not spoken to me for 8.4 days, following an argument that took place in the hospital. 

“Spock, come home.  I haven’t seen you in a week – you spend all your time here!  He’s not waking up any time soon, and I’m sure Len would call you if he did.  Please.”

“Nyota, I cannot leave him here alone.”

“He’s not alone, Spock!  You know Bones practically lives here, he’s watching him!  You’re exhausted – I can see it in your eyes, don’t tell me you don’t need sleep.”

“I appreciate your concern, however, I am unable to comply with your request.” 

Her eyes had closed off, then, their soft brown turning hard with an emotion I was unable to discern. 

“All right, Spock.  Stay with Jim.  We can talk about this later.” 

She had kissed me on the cheek and left.  I had not seen her since.

“Spock,” she says, standing.  She is wearing jeans that accentuate the long lines of her legs, and a sweatshirt that reads “Starfleet Track.”

“Nyota,” I respond warily, estimating that the upcoming conversation will most likely be of a very emotional nature, almost certainly on the topic of our courtship, and calculating a 97.56% probability that it will concern the Captain.  

“Do you want to sit down?” she asks, gesturing to the couch.  I raise my eyebrow, for it is, after all, my couch, but she does not smile.  I am now certain that the conversation will concern our relationship. 

I sit across from her, and she carefully folds one leg underneath herself.  She stares at her hands, which are entwined in her lap, and I find that I possess no desire to reach out to her.  The thought of touching her fingers, of kissing her in my people’s tradition, is suddenly repulsive. 

“Spock,” she begins.  “What happened, two weeks ago, with Khan… it was hard on everyone.  And with – with Kirk – Spock,” she pauses, “I was there.  When he died.  I saw what it did to you.” 

I say nothing. 

“I-” she looks up at me and her eyes are agonized.  “I never knew.  I thought it was just your concern for him as your Captain.  How could I have known, Spock?  You say so little, and when you do talk, it’s about nothing at all.” 

She looks at me as if she expects me to speak.  I do not.  She continues. 

“And then, you wouldn’t – well, I… Spock, what does the Captain mean to you?” 

I am confused with the wording of her question.  Nyota is one of the most eloquent Terrans I have ever met, and yet I feel as if I am missing some essential part of her query.

“The Captain is my friend.”  It is the only response I can give. 

“Spock, friends don’t stand sentinel at friend’s bedsides for two weeks while they lie in a coma.  Friends don’t forego sleep, food, just because the other is sick.” 

I do not understand what she is trying to communicate. 

She takes a deep breath.  “Spock, do you love me?”

I do not know what to say.  Vulcans cannot lie.  “Nyota…” 

“Do you love me, Spock?” 

“Yes.”  I do love Nyota.  She was my first friend, accepted me at a time in my life when I was rejected by my father, my race, and the race of my mother.

Her eyes harden.  “Are you in love with me?”

I pause.  “No.” 

It appears I gave her the answer for which she was looking. 

“Thank you, Spock, for being honest.”  She looks fragile as she meets my gaze, and I suspect she is trying not to cry.  “After everything that’s happened, I don’t think I can see you anymore.  It’s not good for either of us.” 

I cannot help but agree, but I do not understand why Nyota would wish to end our relationship.  “May I enquire as to why you are terminating our courtship?  Am I lacking in emotional support-”

“No, Spock, no, that’s not it,” she says hurriedly.  “It’s just – we were never going to work.  Your heart has belonged to someone else for a long time now.” 

I do not stop to puzzle over her statement – there will be time later, during meditation.  “I hope ending our relationship will not lead to the loss of your friendship.”

Her eyes soften, and she leans forward and hugs me gently.  “Of course not.  I’m just going to need a little space, just for a while, all right?” 

“ _Veling_.” 

Nyota smiles.  “ _Lesek_.”

Before she exists, she pauses, and turns back to me. 

“ _Moyo huona mbali kuliko kichwa._ ”  She leaves, closing the door softly behind her, leaving the smell of jasmine in her wake. 

I do not understand.

_Your heart has belonged to someone else for a long time now._

I retreat to my bedroom, roll out my meditation mat and light my incense. 

_I saw what it did to you._

Emotions cloud my thoughts, and I work to dispel them.  Emotions obscure logic.  They prevent the serenity brought by meditation. 

_Nam-tor Ozhika kluterek t'sha'sutenivaya - k'ish she-tor etek s'nezhak - isan utvau vah sha'kakhartayek._

Nyota is a logical choice for a mate.  She is beautiful, intelligent, and rational.  She fulfills my intellectual needs.  And yet she is somehow lacking. 

_Nam-tor rubah bolaya-torek t'ek'nam._

I have never been able to meld with Nyota.  We had begun our courtship not long before the _Va’Pak_ , and after, my mind was too unstable to risk melding with a human.  It would be too easy for me to lose control of the meld.  I had continued to use the excuse long after it had ceased to be valid, continuously finding small flaws in my mental walls to justify my avoidance of what should have been a natural development in our relationship. 

A relationship that is now over. 

 _Kroykah_. 

I will not think about Nyota.  I will not let her rejection hurt me. 

I slip further into my meditative trance, dispelling all thoughts of our relationship, all semblance of injury. 

Her words, however, do not leave. 

_Spock, what does the Captain mean to you?_

_The heart sees further than the head._

_***_

When I emerge from meditation, the sun is streaming weakly in through the window.  It will rain later. 

I use the sonics and proceed to attend to my basic hygienic needs.  I do not have meetings to attend, so I leave my uniform in the closet and don my singular pair of jeans and a regulation thermal long-sleeved shirt.  I will need it when it begins to rain. 

It is rare that I am out of uniform, for I typically have duties to attend to in some capacity.  Classes, however, do not begin for two months, and the Admiralty seems to have exhausted its line of questioning regarding Khan’s capture and the Captain’s subsequent revival.  The issue of Admiral Marcus, of course, was dealt with first; a traitor to the Federation, his actions would certainly have consequences. 

Although the Federation had made abundantly clear to the Klingon Empire the extent of its involvement with the operation, the Klingons were still perturbed over the murder of their soldiers by a trained Starfleet operative.  I turn my thoughts away from Khan, disturbed by the emotions his memory elicits. 

I find myself alone and without purpose for the first time since being back at Headquarters.  It is far too early to visit Jim, so I determine to visit the science labs.  They are being reconstructed, along with much of the rest of Starfleet, after the attack.  Hundreds of precious experiments were lost in the damage, and many of my colleagues are attempting to replicate their processes with varying results. 

I blend into their routine with surprising efficiency; if not for the somber faces of the individuals around me, I could almost forget the last year had ever occurred, forget that Vulcan had been destroyed and my life irrevocably changed with the death of my mother and the destruction of my home planet; if not for the fact that James Tiberius Kirk is lying in the hospital, his blood replaced with that of a tyrannical madman. 

As I place a DNA sample into the centrifuge, I remember him waking.  His body, convulsing and his eyes blown wide with fear at some foe I could not see.  I wished to destroy whatever was haunting his nightmares, whatever was causing him such terror. 

_Moyo huona mbali kuliko kichwa._

_Your heart has belonged to someone else for a long time now._

Nyota was incorrect.  My concern for Jim was that of a First Officer to his Captain, of a friend.  My heart – and my mind – were my own. 

I concentrate on the task at hand and remove Jim Kirk from my thoughts.

I leave the science labs at 1800 and begin to make my way to the hospital.  The sun will set in 32 minutes over San Francisco Bay; the sky is purpling above me and the horizon is alight with yellow flame.  It reminds me of Jim’s hair.

“Hey, Spock,” Jim says as I enter the room.  He is awake, although his eyes are heavy and it appears he has not slept since I departed the night before.  The circles under his eyes match mine, and his skin is sallow.  “How’s it going?”

“I am well,” I say, taking up my customary place next to his side.  A single ray of golden light peeks through the window.  Jim cannot see the sunset from here.  “How are you feeling?”

“You know,” he says easily. 

I frown.  “I do not.”

“I’m fine, Spock.  Tired of sitting here, is all.  You know how I get around a biobed.  Bones said he might even let me walk to the door tomorrow, if I’m lucky.”

I pause. “Do you believe the Doctor would be opposed to transport via wheelchair?”

Jim makes a face.  “I doubt he wants me leaving the room.  He did take me off the IV, though, last night.  I’m just stuck here until I can “recover my strength.”  By which I’m sure he means “extensive and brutal physical therapy.”  Can’t wait,” he adds, smiling bitterly.  “Why do you ask?” 

“There is something I believe you would like to see.” 

“Are you proposing jailbreak?” 

“In a sense.” 

“And that we don’t tell Bones?”

“Affirmative.” 

“Why, Mr. Spock,” he says, grinning.  “I didn’t think you had it in you.  Get me the hell out of here, I don’t care if it’s in a damn chair.” 

There is an old-fashioned wheelchair leaning against one wall; I quickly unfold it and approach the bed. 

“May I assist you?” 

A guilty look flashes in Jim’s eyes.  “Do you mind?”

“Negative.” 

I gather Jim in my arms; he is surprisingly light, and I estimate his muscle mass has decreased by as much as sixteen percent.  He shivers in my arms as I lower him into the chair, and I collect a blanket from the foot of his bed.  Although the rain stopped over three hours ago, the weather has precipitated a drop in temperature.  Jim will need the additional warmth. 

I wheel him out of the room to the elevator.  The roof of the hospital doubles as a patio, where patients can go while recovering from their injuries to enjoy fresh air. 

Jim grins.  “Going up?” 

“Yes,” I reply simply.  Jim’s smile widens and we spend the rest of the short ride in silence.  When we finally emerge onto the rooftop, there are no other patients present, and the sun is 10.3 minutes away from disappearing over the horizon. 

Jim exhales, a short gust of breath that would have been inaudible to any human.  I find a chair and carry it to Jim’s side.  We sit in silence, watching the sun set over the bay. 

“A year,” Jim says, shuddering with the rapidly declining temperature and drawing the blanket closer to himself.  The sun has long sunk over the ocean, and the sky is a deepening indigo.  It is still too light for stars.  I do not reply to Jim; he has not yet finished his thought.

“God, Spock.  What the fuck do they expect me to do?  I finally get away from this godforsaken rock, and-” he stops, chest heaving.  His voice is thin. 

“You are anxious.”

“No.  Yeah.  Yeah, I am.  I don’t wanna be Earthbound, Spock,” he whispers.  I do not know how to relieve his stress – I wish that I could reach out to him, assuage his fears. 

_Spock, what does the Captain mean to you?_

“We will monitor the progress of the _Enterprise_.  Mr. Scott is working hard.”

Eyes shining, he turns to me.  “Our ship.”

“Yes, Jim.”

“Spock…” he breathes, closing his eyes.  His hand gravitates to my left shoulder and clasps it gently.  He squeezes, and my breath falters. 

“Won’t be so bad with you here.”  He smiles and removes his hand, places it in his lap. 

I force myself to breathe regularly.  I count the time it takes me to breathe in, out, regulate my heartbeat, expel the flush from my cheeks. 

It is strange that Jim’s displays of friendship affect me so. 

“I concur,” I say softly. 

The stars come out, and Jim’s breathing slows beside me.  I am satisfied – I do not mind if our time together is cut short; it is obvious Jim requires rest. 

I wheel him back inside.  Doctor McCoy approaches me as I am helping the Captain back into bed – Jim clings to me in sleep with surprising tenacity, and seems unwilling to release my sleeve.  I tug my arm slightly, and his fingers loosen – after what it felt like to grasp his hand, I do not desire to initiate physical contact. 

Leonard nearly snarls as he grips my arm with strength that may have bruised a human, and he forcibly leads me to his office, which is directly next door to Jim’s room. 

“What the hell are you doing, Spock?” he spits as soon as we enter the room, and his eyes are wild.  His rampant emotionalism exhausts me. 

“I apologize, Doctor.  It was my belief that the Captain needed-”

“I don’t give a damn what you think, you green-blooded hobgoblin!  He’s _my_ patient!” 

I temper my exasperation.  “Doctor, I would not have acted as I did if I did not believe it was within the Captain’s best interests.  I apologize for my lapse in judgment in not first clearing it with you.”

McCoy breathes deeply.  “I know, Spock.”  He turns to the desk behind him and pulls out two glasses from one of the drawers, accompanied by a bottle of bourbon. 

“Drink?” he asks, holding up the glasses.  I shake my head. 

“I do not drink.”

He shrugs, and pours two fingers of liquor into one of the glasses.  He gestures to the chair opposite his desk, and I sit. 

“Sorry,” McCoy mumbles as he drains half his glass.  “I shouldn’t have – I know you’re only looking out for him.  And I know this has been hard on both of us.” 

_I saw what it did to you._

He swallows the rest of the bourbon and pours himself more. 

“You need not apologize,” I say. 

He nods.  “I worry about him, you know.  He didn’t sleep after you left last night.  I tried to give him a sedative but he wouldn’t let me.  Just said it would give him bad dreams.”  He pauses to drink.  “I’m worried about what happened yesterday.  This is unprecedented science – completely experimental, nothing like it has ever been done.  What if – Jesus, what if something went wrong?”

 _Kup-fun-tor ha'kiv na'ish du stau_?

I find I have nothing to say.  The same question has occurred to me, and I have found no answer.

“Anyways, thanks for coming.  Don’t know what it is about you, but he seems to find you comforting.”  McCoy surveys me with a raised eyebrow, and I lift mine in turn.  He rolls his eyes.  “Kid’s certifiable.  I’ll comm you if anything happens.” 

“Thank you, Doctor.”  I stand to leave. 

“Hey, Spock,” McCoy calls after me.  I turn at the door. 

“You don’t have to keep calling me ‘Doctor,’ you know.  Sounds a bit formal.  Leonard works just fine.” 

I get the sense that Jim would be smiling if he could see this interaction.  I raise my eyebrow, nod, and exit the office. 

I see Jim once more before I leave.  He looks peaceful in repose, chest rising and falling with comforting regularity.  A lock of his hair is out of place, hanging down over his forehead, and I find my hand halfway to fixing it before I realize my actions.  I pause, and smooth the hair back into place.  My fingers brush Jim’s scalp, and distantly, I sense his bone-deep exhaustion, an ache that flows from his core.  I withdraw them quickly – there is nothing I can do to relieve his pain, and my touch is an invasion of his privacy. 

I depart the room and attempt to put Jim Kirk from my mind, but he seems to infiltrate my every thought, permeating the membranes of my mental shields.

_Moyo huona mbali kuliko kichwa._

_The heart sees further than the head._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Translations:  
> Kroykah - Stop  
> Kup-fun-tor ha'kiv na'ish du stau? - Can you return to life what you kill?  
> Veling - Of course  
> Lesek - Thank you  
> Va'Pak - The destruction of Vulcan by Nero, literally, "The Immeasurable Loss"  
> Moyo huona mbali kuliko kichwa. - The heart sees further than the head.  
> Nam-tor Ozhika kluterek t'sha'sutenivaya - k'ish she-tor etek s'nezhak - isan utvau vah sha'kakhartayek. - Logic is the cement of our civilization with which we ascend from chaos, using reason as our guide.  
> Nam-tor rubah bolaya-torek t'ek'nam. - Change is the essential process of all existence.


	3. Paper-Mended (Jim)

I keep having nightmares. 

The worst thing is that they’re so predictable.  I wake up every morning thinking, _I should have known that was coming_. 

But that’s the thing about nightmares – and dreams.  They always seem real when you’re inside them.  It’s only when you wake up that things seem strange. 

They never tell you what to do if your nightmares make perfect sense. 

If you’re going about your day, normal as all hell, and then suddenly you’re waking up with sleep paralysis and a frozen superhuman standing at the foot of your bed. 

They don’t even tell you that’s _possible_.  But I know it is.

Sometimes, in my nightmares, it’s like I don’t even know who I am.  I close my eyes and it’s a gamble. 

I can’t decide if the dreams or nightmares are worse.  Sometimes one is the other.  Sometimes they’re the same. 

Bones says my physical therapy is coming along.  I don’t know what to believe – I can make it one lap around the hospital before crumpling into a puddle of exhaustion.  Spock says I’m doing well.  He visits every day, and we play chess. 

Those are my favorite moments. 

Sometimes I feel like I’m living in a permanent dream state, because sometimes Spock looks at me and I swear I see something in his eyes. 

Sometimes I feel like I’m never going to leave the hospital.  Bones says I’m getting better.  Spock promises me that, at the one month mark, he’s gonna get me out of here.  We’re going to visit the _Enterprise_. 

Our ship. 

I just wish the nightmares would stop. 

***

My skin is burning.  The air is thick stifling heavy with electricity _deadly_.

I open my eyes.

Darkness, and above me, an electric blue light.  My ship is dying.  _Our ship._

_Your father was Captain of a Starship for twelve minutes.  He saved eight hundred lives, including your mother’s, and yours.  I dare you to do better._

I climb. 

My muscles are weakening and searing like someone is turning me slowly over a fire that’s lapping hungrily at my exposed skin.  I can’t make it, can’t possibly reach it but the ship is lurching and up there somewhere I left Spock in charge which means he’s evacuated everyone and they are safe but _I can’t let Spock_ _die_

_Your argument precludes the possibility of a no-win scenario._

I grab hold of the fixture and haul myself up.  My feet slam into the warp core again, again, again, and just when I think my force won’t be strong enough, that our ship will go down in a blaze of fire and that Spock will go down with it

_I don’t believe in no-win scenarios._

The warp core snaps back into place, and I am falling, falling, and I need to see him, _one last time_

 _You of all people should know, Cadet Kirk, a Captain cannot cheat death._   

He is waiting outside the radiation chamber and I reach up to shut the door and heedless of the radiation he opens the entry and gathers me in his arms.  I try to protest but his fingers alight on my lips, silencing me.  They dance over my skin, long and slender, hover near my temple uncertainly.

_I of all people._

“You’ll die.”  My words tumble over each other like stones, clumsy and cold.  Spock must not die. 

“No, _t’hy’la_ ,” he whispers, fingers kissing my temples.  I feel love, stronger than any I have ever experienced, stemming from the contact.  It envelops me in warmth and the pain disappears. 

“You are safe now, _ashayam._ ”

_Why, Mr. Spock, you almost make me believe in miracles._

I bury my face in his neck, letting my lips press against his collarbone.  He does not protest, only holds me closer, one hand buried in the hair at the base of my scalp and the other supporting my lower back. 

_How’s our ship?_

“Wait,” I murmur against the soft skin of his neck. 

 _Out of danger_. 

“This isn’t how this is supposed to go.”

“Hush, Jim.  You are safe now.”

_You saved the crew._

“No, this isn’t right,” I nearly shout, struggling to escape from Spock’s arms.  Where his embrace had been comforting, it is now a cage.

_You used what he wanted against them.  That’s a nice move._

“Jim-”

_It is what you would have done._

“The needs – the needs-” I gasp, tearing myself from his arms.  His eyes are dead.

_And this… this is what you would have done. It was only logical._

“Jim, you are being illogical-”

_I’m scared, Spock.  Help me not be.  How do you choose not to feel?_

“No!” I scramble back against the opening to the chamber.  “You’re not Spock.  Who are you?!”

_I do not know.  Right now, I am failing._

Spock’s eyes are blue.

_Spunau bolayalar t'Wehku bolayalar t'Zamu il t'Veh._

Pain, like heartbreak in my chest, and I turn around, ready to flee, and

I am in a field – or what used to be a field.  Black sludge covers the ground in shallow pools, festering, for as far as the eye can see, and the smell of burning flesh hangs in the air. 

_No not here not here don’t take me back here_

I’m running and screaming and I can’t go back because here there is death and fear and I’ve buried it in my mind a long, long time ago and it’s _forgotten_

I come to a scorched stand of trees and try to hide, but I know they’ll find me, _he’ll_ find me

_Citizen, what is your name?_

So I keep running, coming to an abandoned house – I can stay the night, but there is blood on my hands and I need to wash it clean, blood that won’t come off so I run to the bathroom and crimson stains my skin and I glance in the mirror but it’s not my face there –

It’s Khan. 

_My name is James Tiberius Kirk._

I jolt awake, my sheets tangled like a shroud around me.  Spock is by my side, and I reach out to him, panicked by the sight of Khan’s face as my own. 

“Jim,” he says, reaching for my hand and taking it in his own.  His middle and index fingers run slowly over the back of my hand and my skin tingles with pleasure; I allow myself to relax back into the bed. 

“Sorry,” I say, my voice weak.  “Bad dream.” 

“You are safe now, _ashayam_ ,” Spock murmurs as he leans down and kisses me lightly on the forehead.  I relax into his touch.  His fingers continue to move over my own. 

_You are safe now, ashayam._

“Wait,” I say, tugging my hand from Spock’s.  His eyes are wide.  “This – you – you said that before.”

“ _T’hy’la-_ ”

“You’ve never called me that.  I don’t even know what those words mean.  You’re-” I choke, jumping out of the bed and backing against the wall.  “You’re not real.  You don’t love me – not like that.” 

“Jim,” Spock says, and his mouth twists, transforms into that of Khan’s, and then he is standing across the room from me, blue eyes glittering. 

“ _Kup-fun-tor ha'kiv na'ish du stau?”_

I don’t know what the words mean, but inside my head I am screaming

_wake up wake up WAKE UP WAKE UP WAKE UP_

I am back in bed, but Khan is gone, and the room is empty.  Bones runs in and grabs my shoulders; he is saying something – I can see his lips moving, but I can’t hear him speak.  In a twist that’s becoming all too common, I find that I can’t move my muscles. 

Bones slaps me, and just like that, I’ve found my hearing, my limbs, again.  Screams ring through the room and I wonder why Bones isn’t helping the person that’s making such terrible noises.  As I snap my mouth shut, I realize why – the sounds are coming from me. 

“Bones,” I gasp, closing my eyes.  This seems real.  But then again, all the other dreams had seemed real, too.

“Jim, hey, you all right?” he asks as he takes my pulse. 

“I- I- I need to see Spock.” 

“Already commed him.  He’s on his way,” Bones says, settling back into the chair next to my biobed. 

“Good,” I breathe.  Today was supposed to be the day I left the hospital – it had been 34 days since I’d woken up (no, I was _not_ counting) and Spock and I were set to see the repair work on the _Enterprise_.  I could make it a full mile on the treadmill without having to stop for breath, and my strength was improving daily.  Bones figures that, in another month, I’ll be back to my old self – minus all the muscle mass I’ve lost while being inactive. 

The bad news was, I’ll have to get a job.  Spock has already spoken to the academic head of Command track, recommending me for a job teaching cadets how to handle crisis situations. 

“Spock, come on, they’re never gonna hire me for that.  Even you hate the way I handle crisis situations, like, 95% of the time.  I rarely follow regulation.  I _always_ put myself in danger.  It drives you nuts, admit it.”

“The cadets know regulation, Jim.  What they need is the perspective of an officer who does not merely follow Starfleet’s code, but is willing to “bend the rules” to produce a positive outcome.  They need someone who is adept at examining a situation from all angles, someone skilled at finding – often, seemingly impossibly – a third option.”

I hadn’t argued because the damage had already been done.  The semester would start in about a month, giving me little excuse to get out of teaching.  It was basically a done deal. 

“Jim,” Bones says, dragging me away from thoughts of Spock and back to the present.  “How ‘bout you tell me what’s going on?”

I survey him skeptically.  “All right.  But first you gotta do something for me.”

Bones looks relieved.  “Yeah?”

“Prove to me that I’m awake.” 

He’s confused – his eyebrows furrow, and I notice the vein in his left temple jump.  It does that when he’s frightened. 

“What?”

“I keep having these dreams, Bones.  They’re like nightmares, but they’re _so real_.  And then I’ll think I’m waking up, and it turns out just to be another part of the dream, and I just – I wake up, and I can’t move anything, and…” I run out of breath.

“Jim, you’re awake,” Bones says, clasping me on the shoulder.  “Promise.” 

“How – how do I know you’re not lying?” 

Bones looks around the room briefly, and grabs the copy of _Oliver Twist_ that Spock’s been reading to me. 

“Read me the first sentence.” 

“Among other public buildings in a certain town, which for many reasons it will be prudent-”

“There,” Bones interrupts, “see, you’re awake.  You can’t read in dreams, Jim.” 

I close the cover of the book.  “Right.  Yeah.  You’re sure?” 

Just then, Spock bursts into the room.  His hair is slightly mussed, like he has been running, and his cheeks are flushed green.  My stomach lurches. 

“Jim,” he says, moving to my side.  Bones vacates the chair and moves to the foot of my bed to look at something on my chart. 

“Sorry for the false alarm, Spock.  I’m all right.” 

I’m lying, because all I can remember is the way Spock reacted in my dream, at the radiation chamber – all I can remember is the way his fingers moved over mine and how he spoke Vulcan to me with something like reverence. 

He looks like he doesn’t believe me.

“Perhaps it would be wise if you stayed-”

“No!” I cut across him.  “No.  Sorry, Bones, you know I love you, but I gotta get out of here,” I say, grinning at Len.  He scowls back, and I turn to Spock.  “Come on, you promised – a trip to the _Enterprise_.  Can’t back out on it now, Spock.”  I give him my most charming smile.

“I brought you the clothes you requested,” Spock says, relenting.  He holds out my overnight bag and I grab it, a grin spreading across my face. 

“Thanks,” I say, pulling off the loose, hospital-issue shirt I’d been provided.  I catch Spock staring at my chest for a moment longer than is necessary, but I realize it’s probably because of my lost muscle mass.  My ribs are showing, and I don the black regulation t-shirt he brought, suddenly self-conscious of my weight.  The fabric is loose where it had once been snug, and I hesitate over the regulation pants. 

“They are mine,” Spock says abruptly.  I look up at him, puzzled.  “My waist size is smaller than yours.  These will fit you better.” 

“Thanks,” I say, pulling on the pants.  Spock is right – they do fit better, after the weight I’ve lost.  I want to say something, make him realize what the gesture means to me, but I find that I can’t vocalize it.

“How ‘bout it?” I say, grinning.  “Goin’ my way?”

“Is there any other way to go?” Spock responds, lips quirking up into the not-smile. 

I glow. 

I check myself out of the hospital as Bones hovers, reminding me of all my physical and dietary restrictions for the next month and a half. 

“I swear to god, kid, if I hear that you’re spending any time at the gym, I will personally-”

“Cool it, Bones,” I interrupt, signing my last paper with a flourish and clapping him on the shoulder.  His face is beet red and he opens his mouth as if he wants to continue talking when

“Leonard, I will personally monitor his condition to ensure he remains healthy and within the parameters of your recovery regime.” 

I turn to Spock, amazed.  “ _What_ did you just call him?” 

“I’m gonna hold you to that, you pointy-eared-”

“No, back the fuck up _now_ ,” I say, cutting across whatever derogatory name Bones was about to call Spock, “since when are you two on a _first name basis_?” 

“Since we spent two weeks together, not knowing if you were gonna wake up or not.  We found out we have a common interest.” 

“ _Which is?_ ”

“Keepin’ your sorry ass alive.” 

I can’t help myself, I laugh.  The thought of Bones and Spock bonding over my prone body was morbid, but pretty funny – I never thought I’d see the day when the two of them agreed on anything. 

“All right, fair enough,” I say.  “Let’s go, Spock, I want to see our ship.” 

Unbidden, he bends down and grabs my bag.  I start to protest but he just says, “There is a hovercar outside.” 

Repairs are being done at Riverside, so Spock and I have a ways to drive, and there are a few things I want to know about.  He takes the wheel, and I settle back into the passenger seat, reveling in the feeling of being free from the damn hospital.  I’d thought Sickbay was bad, but at least then I was still aboard the _Enterprise_.  I make a mental note to never get injured while planetside again.

“So, Spock,” I begin about a half hour out of San Francisco.  “What’s been going on with you and Uhura?”

She had, of course, visited me since I’d woken up – most of the bridge crew, with the notable exception of Chekov, who was in Russia with his family, had come to say hello at least once.  Uhura had come on the fourth day, which didn’t surprise me – we hadn’t always gotten on as well as we could have, probably due to my incessant flirting.  I’d resolved to cool the suggestive remarks to her once I was confirmed Captain of the _Enterprise_ , and we’d gotten along better since then.  

She’d come in, all long legs and dark skin in short-shorts and a rolled-up flannel, like a goddamn walking wet dream.  I was running on about a half hour of sleep, and I had a hard time tearing my eyes from the lines of her quads. 

“Hey, Jim,” she said, pulling up a chair to sit next to me, placing her breasts at eye-level.  I hated her. 

“That’s Captain to you,” I replied with my best cocky grin, and she laughed.  The sound seemed to light up the room. 

“How’s it going?”

“I walked twenty feet today before I got tired.  Bones says it’s an improvement.” 

She leaned forward, her smile replaced with a look of concern, and grasped my hand.  “Jim, I – I’m so sorry.  I know it must be hard.” 

“Yeah,” I said, squeezing her hand.  “I’ll be all right.” 

“My mother had a saying - _haba na haba hujaza kibaba._ ”

“What’s it mean?”

“Little by little fills up the measure.  You’ll get there, Jim.”

I smiled.

“You look tired.”

“Dying can do that to you.”

“You know what I meant.” 

“I’m having trouble sleeping.  Sometimes it helps if someone’s here – in the room.  You know.”  I didn’t mention it was Spock who provided the most comfort – he was already spending enough time with me.

“That makes sense.” 

“Hey, I’m sorry about Spock.”  I could feel her muscles tense through our touch, and I hurried to explain.  “Just – you know, he’s been spending a lot of time here, and I keep trying to tell him to go be with you, but…” I stopped, aware that I was digging myself into a hole.  “Look, I just, I’m sorry if this is detracting, from, you know-”

“Jim,” she said, saving me.  “Don’t worry about it, all right?  Just focus on getting better.  _La kuvunda halina rubani_.”

“What’s that one mean?”

She smiled.  “A vessel running aground has no Captain.  The _Enterprise_ needs her Captain, Jim.”

“Thanks, Nyota.” 

“How does he help you sleep?  What can I do?” 

I didn’t ask how she knew exactly who I was talking about. 

“You don’t have to do that.” 

“Yes, I do.  Please, Jim.  You saved all our lives – this is the least I can do.” 

I sighed, resigned.  “He’s been reading me _Oliver Twist_.  It’s on the table there.”  

Nyota had read to me until I fell asleep.  The implications of the interaction hadn’t struck me until the next day, when I found out that Spock was completely unaware she had visited.  Since then, I had been hesitant to ask Spock about her – if something had happened, I wanted to give him time to recover from it.  Spock’s emotions ran deeper than he wanted anybody to know, and a break-up would definitely affect him. 

“Spock?” I ask, because he still hasn’t answered my question.  “Something happen between you two?”

Spock put the hovercar into cruise mode.  “Nyota terminated our romantic relationship.  We remain friends, and there will be no issue with our-”

“Look, I don’t _care_ about your professional relationship.  I trust you guys will work through it.  What I want to know is how _you’re_ doing.” 

Spock doesn’t reply, and his eyes remain fixed on the road.  “I am fine, Jim.” 

“You’re not.” 

“I was… surprised that she decided to end the courtship.”

“And?”

“I found that I agreed with her decision.”

“ _What_?”

“Noyta and I are fundamentally incompatible.”

“Like...? Spock, I'm gonna be honest, I have no idea what you’re taking about.”

Spock breathes deeply, as if he’s steeling himself for something.  I’m getting really fucking curious.

“Vulcans do not mate by merely physical means, as do Terrans.  We bond telepathically with our mate – it is a very complex process, but even without a formal bond, Vulcans will often require a mind meld in order to achieve…” Spock pauses, “climax.”

All the blood in my body rushes south – hearing Spock say “climax” ranks amongst the top ten most erotic things I’ve ever experienced.  I clear my throat loudly.

“So, you… what, can’t meld with her?”

“Affirmative.” 

“Why not?” 

Spock glances over at me, and I can’t discern the emotion in his eyes.  “I do not know.” 

At least I know why he’s been spending so much time with me.  “If you ever wanna just, talk it out or something, you know-”

“Jim,” he interrupts, but it is not harsh.  His eyes are soft and full of emotion.  “Thank you for your concern.”

I shrug.  “Basically my job, Spock.”

“I fail to understand how this relates to your duties-”

“It’s my job as your friend to remind you of what she’s missing out on,” I clarify, turning my face towards the window.  I can feel my skin flushing against my will, and I shove down the urge to reach out to Spock, to make him see what _he’s_ missing out on.  I value his friendship too much to make a pass at him, especially when I know there’s no possibility he feels the same way.  Jesus, if _Uhura_ ’s mind isn’t compatible with his, I figure mine must be repulsive.  My brain feels chaotic to me at the best of times – basically as far away from Spock’s logic as it’s possible to be. 

“I am… gratified for the reminder.” 

I smile.  “’Course you are.  Anyways, second matter of business.  Where the hell are we staying while the repairs are going on?”

“We have both been assigned temporary Officer’s quarters by Starfleet.  We are neighbors,” he adds, anticipating my next question. 

“Just like back home,” I say.  We share a bathroom on the _Enterprise_ , and I’ve gotten used to having Spock so close.  “Wait, didn’t you have an apartment, though?  Why are you staying in ‘Fleet-assigned housing?”

“It was destroyed when the _Vengeance_ crashed.  The entire complex was demolished.” 

“I’m sorry.  Was there much-”

“Negative.  All of my artifacts from Vulcan were on board the _Enterprise_ at the time.  Since our quarters were relatively undamaged by the incident, what remains is intact.” 

“That’s good.” 

We ride in comfortable silence for a long time – we never need to talk, and sometimes, we can play entire games of chess, communicating just through looks and body language.  It’s nice, not needing to fill the space with words. 

I remember something.  “Hey, what does – I’m gonna butcher the pronunciation, sorry, but - _kup-fun-tor ha'kiv na'ish du stau_ mean?”

Spock’s knuckles go white on the steering wheel and his entire body seems to freeze.  “Where did you hear that?”

“Someone, um, I don’t remember who-”

“Jim, please do not lie to me.  Where did you hear that phrase?”

“A dream,” I sigh, turning towards the window.  “You were in it – but then, you were replaced by Khan, and he – well, yeah.”

“It is one of Surak’s sayings.  It translates to, “Can you return to life what you kill?””

I try to swallow, but my throat is dry.  “Can you?”

We pull up to the shipyard. 

“You are alive.  That is all that matters.”

I climb out of the car slowly, carefully, like my body is breakable – per doctor’s orders.  Nevertheless, I stumble and manage to twist my ankle.  Spock is at my side in less than a second, gripping my elbow.

“Are you injured?”

“Nah, just my ankle.”  I put my weight on it and wince.  “Shit.” 

“Let me help,” Spock says, and he wraps one arm around my waist, arranging mine over his shoulder. 

_A hundred years or so from now, I believe, a famous novelist will write a classic using that theme. He'll recommend those three words even over ‘I love you.’_

My heartbeat sticks in my throat, and I feel suffused in warmth as he supports me across the gravel drive.  I know I’m probably blushing. 

 _Jesus, Jim, you’re not a fucking schoolgirl with a crush.  This is your First Officer, you are a Starfleet Captain, and_ that _is your ship._

I take a deep breath, but the feeling doesn’t go away, merely grows stronger as Spock’s fingers dig into my side. 

 _I am so fucked_. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Translations:  
> Ashayam - beloved  
> T'hy'la - friend, brother, lover (soulmate)  
> Spunau bolayalar t'Wehku bolayalar t'Zamu il t'Veh. - The needs of the many outweigh the needs of the few, or the one.
> 
> I don't even know why I'm defining a couple of these, but I guess if someone's new to the fandom, there you go <3 Anyways, the next chapter should be up, like, the day after tomorrow. Probably. This fic is making me really happy, because it's basically writing itself. Expect more UST. Also I really really like the Jim/Uhura friendship dynamic, so expect more of that (and definitely more of the Spock/Bones friendship, too). I will be bringing in some side pairings in the coming chapters, but everything will still focus on K/S. They're my babies. Thank you!


	4. Make The Heart Beat (Spock)

We near the _Enterprise,_ but I find myself reluctant to let go of Jim.  It is illogical, of course, as I have noticed a 78% decrease in his limp since we set out from the car, but I do not release him until we reach the inner fences surrounding the ship.  He slides his arm along my shoulders, and his fingers briefly brush my neck; my shields are down, and I receive a flash of –

_Longing?_

We are greeted warmly by the security guards that are positioned around the fence, and Jim makes casual conversation with them as we approach the ship.  It presents a hulking, imposing figure from the outside, but as I look at Jim I see his eyes shining in wonder.  I remember a conversation we had over a game of chess, in our second month aboard the _Enterprise._

“So I heard you’re a genius, even by Vulcan standards,” the Captain began after 18.3 minutes of perfect silence.  I was four moves away from check, and he was playing a very illogical game. 

“I have seen your aptitude tests, Captain.  The same could be said for you.” 

He made a swatting gesture with his hand.  “Not important.  No, I was wondering why you didn’t go to the VSA.  You were the only Vulcan to ever refuse their offer.  How come?” 

“It is often hard for me to justify to myself why I did not accept their offer.  They believed my achievements were impressive, despite the fact that I had a human mother.  I was,” I paused, “offended by the implication.  My parentage did not seem to me to be a disadvantage.” 

The Captain moved his rook, nodding to himself.  “Makes sense.”

“Why did you decide to enlist?” I asked, taking his rook with my queen.  I was now two moves away from checkmate. 

The Captain surveyed the board, and then looked up at me.  “Pike found me in a bar.  I’m sure Uhura’s told you the story-”

I nodded. 

“-well, anyways, he kinda cornered me after the incident.  Spouted off a lot of bullshit about my dad and the _Kelvin_ , and when I still wasn’t convinced… he dared me.  “Your father was Captain of a Starship for twelve minutes,”” the Captain said in a fairly good impersonation of the Admiral.  ““He saved eight hundred lives, including your mother’s and yours.  I dare you to do better.”” He shrugged.  “Guess it stuck.  I’ve never been able to turn down a dare.”

I raised an eyebrow.  The Captain laughed.  It was a pleasing sound, one I was glad to elicit. 

“So, I made my way out to the shipyard at 0800 the next morning, and as I was driving up on my motorcycle, there she was, half-finished.  I don’t know, Spock, it was like… love at first sight, or something.  Looking at the _Enterprise_ that morning, I knew she’d be mine someday.  I just never thought it would happen like this.” 

By his last sentence, the Captain’s tone had grown somber.  He finally moved his remaining bishop, and leaned back in his chair. 

“Checkmate.”

I look back fondly on that memory – it was the first time Jim and I had discussed our pasts, or anything beyond the general workings of the _Enterprise_.  Our friendship had, in a way, begun that night. 

Jim stares at the _Enterprise_ with yearning in his eyes.  I now understand the meaning of the emotions that emanated from his touch – of course, Jim misses his ship, and the vast reaches of unexplored space. 

The repair crew calls out as we board the vessel and head towards engineering to check on Mr. Scott’s progress.  That section of the ship had been severely damaged during the attack, and Mr. Scott had gone to Jim in order to request permission to perform repairs beyond those necessary.  I did not, officially, approve of Mr. Scott’s “improvements,” as they broke several regulations; due to Jim’s enthusiasm for the idea, however, I elected to “turn a blind eye” to the projects Mr. Scott was proposing. 

When we enter the engine room, twenty-seven people turn around and greet us with cheers and waves.  The sight of Jim appears to encourage them, and I realize it is good for crew morale to see their Captain walking and tending to his duties after all that happened. 

“Look at that, Spock, they’re happy to see us,” Jim says, grinning and waving back. 

“I believe their enthusiasm stems from seeing you, as-”

“Come on,” Jim interrupts, elbowing me in the side.  “You’re just as important to them.  Let’s face it, I wouldn’t be here right now if it wasn’t for you.  They don’t value either one of us alone as much as they value us working together, Spock.  We’re a _team_.” 

Jim’s thinking is abstract, but I can see his logic, although I do not agree with it. 

“Hey, Ensign!” Jim yells to a young woman who is busy poring over blueprints. 

“Captain, Commander,” she replies, standing at attention. 

“At ease,” Jim says, smiling.  “Any idea where we can find Scotty?” 

“He should be over by the warp core, Captain,” she responds, throwing a nervous glance at me but relaxing slightly. 

“Thank you, Ensign,” Jim says, and his fingers brush my lower back as we turn and walk away. 

There are fewer crew members in this area, largely due to the fact that the warp core was the first thing to be repaired.  We round a corner to find Mr. Scott buried in wiring near the foot of the console that controls the entrance to the radiation chamber.  I find that, quite suddenly, I am walking alone. 

 _Jim_. 

I turn, and he is standing completely still, staring wide-eyed at the door of the chamber – the door where, nearly two months ago, he died. 

“Captain,” I say, hoping to divert his attention. 

He does not move. 

“Jim,” I whisper, closing the distance between us and grabbing his shoulders firmly. 

He does not move.

“Hey, Commander, what’s goin’ on-” It is Mr. Scott’s voice, but I ignore him. 

Something is wrong with the Captain. 

“Jim-”

He begins to shudder, his entire body trembling, and I do not know what to do.  The crew cannot see him like this – he is supposed to have healed.  He is their Captain, and he is strong.     

_It’s a miracle._

_There are no such things._

“Jim!” I raise my voice, squeezing his shoulders slightly, but his eyes are empty and it is clear that his consciousness is far away, fighting some unseen adversary. 

_Spock, what does the Captain mean to you?_

Careful to avoid a meld, I move my hands to his face and run my thumbs gently along his cheekbones, pushing thoughts of calm and serenity through the touch. 

Jim gasps, and his eyes are focused again, locked onto mine with a surprising intensity, and welling with tears.  I find that I am unwilling to drop my hands until I am sure he is stable. 

“Spock,” he breathes, and he sounds relieved.  Before I am aware of his actions, his arms are around me and he is hugging me, one side of his face pressed against my neck.  I feel tears on my skin, and suspect that the physical contact is a result of his embarrassment at his reaction to seeing the site of his death. 

I do not mind, and wrap my arms around his waist, merely supporting him. 

“You are safe, Jim.  You are safe now,” I repeat as his tears seep into my undershirt. 

 _Let me help_. 

“I’m sorry, I must’ve – dozed off, or something,” Jim says, his words muffled against my shirt. 

“Do not apologize,” I say, allowing my thumbs to rub small circles into his back.  His breathing seems to be slowing, and his heartbeat is nearing regular. 

He laughs, short and bitter.  “God, look at me, breaking down in front of my own warp core.  Embarrassing.” 

I briefly scan the space and realize Mr. Scott must have evacuated the surrounding area, so as not to cause the Captain undue humiliation.  I desire to give him a commendation. 

“May I enquire as to what happened?” 

“I don’t know, Spock,” Jim says, finally pulling away from me.  I feel a strange sense of loss.  “It was a bit like one of my dreams – more of a flashback, though.  I’m not sure.”

 _Kup-fun-tor ha'kiv na'ish du stau_?

“What did you see?” 

“Trust me when I say that you don’t want to know.” 

I open my mouth to argue, but Jim says, “Let’s go find Scotty, and see how those improvements are coming along.” 

As we walk, his shoulder brushes mine. 

***

“How ‘bout a game of chess?”

We are back at Starfleet, and Jim seems restless.  Not for the first time, I recognize the shadows under his eyes and the haggard lines of his face – he has not been sleeping well.  I am inclined to refuse his offer, but his eyes are imploring and bright, face still flushed with joy at seeing the refurbished bridge of the _Enterprise._   I cannot say no.

“Would you prefer my quarters, or yours?” 

“Yours.  God, mine probably look like a prison cell.  Do I even have clothes in there?” 

“Yes,” I say, opening the door to my apartment.  “I arranged to have your effects moved to the new space for the duration of repairs.” 

Jim’s mouth opens in an expression of surprise.  “Oh.  Thanks Spock, that was really thoughtful.” 

I raise one eyebrow.  “It was logical.”

Jim grins, and I feel something warm inside my chest at the sight.  Fascinating. 

He sprawls on my couch, and the way he tilts his head back accentuates the curvature of his neck.  His laryngeal prominence bobs once as he swallows, and I find myself enraptured by the action. 

He notices, and smirks.  “Like what you see, Spock?” 

“Would you like something to drink?” I ask, ignoring his remark.  Jim is a tactile person.  He flirts to mask insecurity, an emotion I am 97.234% certain he is currently experiencing as a result of his actions aboard the _Enterprise_. 

“Sure,” he says, and begins to set up the chess board that is lying on the coffee table. 

I make two cups of Vulcan spice tea.  It possesses a flavor to which Jim was not initially partial, but has since grown to appreciate.  As I reenter the living room, Jim graces me with another of his smiles.  The warm feeling in my chest becomes a spark, and I feel my breath catch slightly. 

“Who won the last game?” Jim asks absently, taking a sip of his tea. 

“I did.  You may take white.” 

We play in silence for 9.36 minutes, until I am certain Jim is relaxed. 

“I would like to further discuss what occurred at the radiation chamber today.” 

Jim’s face hardens, and he accidentally knocks over one of my pawns. 

“Sorry-” he says, reaching to grab it, but my hand is already there.  Our fingers brush, and I feel fear, and darkness, stemming from his touch.  I pull my hand back as if burned. 

“Oh god, Spock, I’m sorry, I forgot-” Jim says, righting the pawn on the board, “-skin-to-skin-” he freezes, looking at me with a horrified expression, “Jesus, when I – today – when I hugged you – why didn’t you say anything?  That was so fucking thoughtless-”

“Jim,” I interrupt.  “That is not what I wished to speak to you about.” 

“It’s – but-” he stops.  “Then you’re not mad that I hugged you?”

“I have observed that humans often crave physical contact after a trying ordeal,” I say, aware that Jim is attempting to change the subject.  “Although it was initially uncomfortable for me, I was pleased to be able to offer you comfort.  I am not upset, nor was it altogether a displeasing experience.” 

Jim looks shocked.  “Oh.”

“I wish to know the nature of what you saw.”

Jim sighs and leans back on the sofa.  “I told you, it was like a flashback.  One second, I was with you, the next I was… back there, Spock.  I was back there.”

I wait for him to continue. 

“I guess you could call it a recurring nightmare.  It always starts off the same way – I’m kicking the core back into alignment, you know, and then I’m out in the chamber, and it feels so _real_.  My skin is blistering and I can’t breathe and then – well, that’s usually when something goes wrong.  You’ll show up – but you’ll be Khan, or Scotty will, or…”

“These always occur when you are asleep?”

“Yeah.  That’s what I was saying, earlier.  I must’ve dozed off.” 

“You did not.  You were speaking, and walking, precisely up until the point that you were not.” 

Jim runs his hand through his hair, and looks at me with tormented eyes. 

“I’m scared, Spock.” 

_Help me not be._

“How am I supposed to teach a class on handling crises if I can’t even look at my own warp core without having an episode?  If I can’t sleep more than two hours a night?  What if – what if they find me unfit for command, Spock?  I can’t lose the ship, I can’t-” he is breathing in short, shallow gasps, and his hands are shaking.   

 _Let me help_. 

I do not know what to do. 

“Jim-”

“Sometimes I look in the mirror, and I don’t know who’s going to be staring back at me, Spock.  It could be Khan, it could be _him_.”

I do not ask who it is that Jim speaks of, for it does not matter right now. 

“You must find a way to anchor yourself.” 

His hands tremble.  I search my mind desperately for something that may help.

“What is your name?” 

He looks at me, and his eyes are blue fires set in pale skin. 

“My name is James Tiberius Kirk.”  He is hyperventilating.  “ _My name is James Tiberius Kirk._ ” 

“You are the Captain of the Federation’s flagship.  You have saved the world twice.  You are James Tiberius Kirk, and you are my friend.” 

“Spock,” he says, voice cracking. 

_How do you choose not to feel?_

_I do not know.  Right now, I am failing._

“Yes, Jim.  I am here.” 

He breathes heavily, and I resist the urge to hold him. 

_Shiyau thol'es k'thorai ri k'ahm._

I believe that if I do, I may not let go. 

“Fuck, I need sleep.” 

“Agreed.”  I pause, for my next statement had the potential to be misconstrued. 

_Spock, what does the Captain mean to you?_

_The Captain is my friend._

“Am I correct in my assumption that you sleep better if you are not alone?”

“What?” Jim looks at me, confused.  “Uh, yeah, you are.” 

“If it would help, you are welcome to stay the night here, so you are not alone in an unfamiliar place.” 

Jim’s jaw drops.  “You – you’re asking if I want to-”

“Stay the night, yes,” I say, raising my eyebrow.

Jim bounces once on the sofa.  “I mean, you don’t have a bad couch, but I wouldn’t want to, you know, _impose_ -”

“I was not suggesting you sleep out here.  I rarely use my bed, since Vulcans do not require as much sleep as do humans.  If it is acceptable to you, I shall mediate, and you are welcome to sleep there.”

Jim flushes deeply, and I wonder at the reaction.  “Your bed.” 

“I believe that is what I just said.”

“I, uh, I mean, sure.  Yeah.  Thanks,” he says.  “Let me just go grab a couple things, and I’ll be right back over.” 

“Are you hungry?” I ask, aware that he has not eaten in at least six hours. 

To my surprise, he laughs.  “Yeah, actually, I am.  How ‘bout I call in something for delivery?” 

“What cuisine did you have in mind?” 

“Thai?”

“I am not sure that qualifies as acceptable under Doctor McCoy’s-”

Jim shushes me.  “Come on Spock, first night out of the hospital.  You’re killing me here.”  He stands.  “Do you like tofu?” 

“Affirmative.” 

“All right then, it’s settled,” he says, grinning, and exits the room.    

***

“So, since this is basically a sleepover,” Jim says through a mouthful of Pad Thai, “I feel like we should play a game.”

My eyes narrow.  “What type of game are you suggesting?” 

“The type that gets uptight Vulcans to spill all of their dirty little secrets,” he answers, a wide smile stretching across his face. 

“I assure you, Jim, I do not have any “dirty little secrets.”  Moreover, Vulcans are an intensely private race, and as such-”

“Don’t you dare,” Jim cuts in, sucking on his fork in a way some may deem pornographic.  “Please?” he asks, drawing out the “ea” and giving me what most humans colloquially call “puppy eyes.” 

Most illogically, I find them irresistible. 

“What are the rules?” 

Jim lets out a triumphant laugh.  “Yes!  Okay, we’re gonna play “have you ever.”  Basically, one of us asks the other a question starting with “have you ever.”  You have to answer the question, but if it’s something that makes you _really_ uncomfortable, you can pass – you only have three passes, though, so be careful with that.  You can also do repeats – so if I ask you a question and you’d like to ask me the same thing, you’re allowed.  Does that make sense?” 

“Are there restrictions to the types of questions that can be asked?”

“Nope,” Jim says, and his grin, impossibly, grows bigger. 

I do not enjoy the idea of having to answer Jim’s questions, but I am curious to learn more about him. 

_You say so little, and when you do talk, it’s about nothing at all._

Jim has a similar problem – he is constantly speaking, but he masks his emotions well, and says little that is of real meaning.  It is only during our chess games, or on the observation deck after a difficult mission that I am able to see past Jim’s seemingly cocky and confident façade. 

“You may go first.” 

“All right,” Jim says, offering the container of mixed vegetables to me.  “Have you ever gotten in a fistfight?  And don’t say Khan, that doesn’t count.” 

I blink.  I had not expected him to ask that question.  “I have.” 

Jim howls with laughter.  “Oh my god, tell me about it!”

I scowl at him but it only makes him laugh harder.  “I was a child at the time, attending a school where my peers were several years older than I, due to my advanced intellect.  Uncharacteristically of Vulcans, the others displayed signs of jealousy towards me, presumably due to my grasp of logic, which far surpassed their own.”

_I presume you have prepared new insults for today?_

“You’re humble, aren’t you?”

 _Affirmative_. 

_This is your thirty-fifth attempt to elicit an emotional response from me._

“Regardless,” I say, ignoring him, “they proceeded to insult me in an attempt to elicit an emotional response.  I ignored their taunts for months, but eventually, they resorted to insulting me on the basis of my parentage.” 

_You’re neither human nor Vulcan, and therefore have no place in this universe._

_He has human eyes.  They look sad, don’t they?_

_Perhaps an emotional response requires physical stimuli._

_He’s a traitor, you know, your father, for marrying her, that human whore._

“I would not stand for the remarks they made concerning my mother.  I gave one of them a black eye.”

“I had no idea Vulcan children could be so vicious,” Jim says sympathetically.  “Doesn’t that kind of go against your race’s motto?” 

“ _Kol-Ut-Shan_.  Infinite diversity in infinite combinations.  Children, however, are brought up with the biases of their parents.  My mother once told me that children were the cruelest creatures in the universe.  Even after all I have seen, I tend to agree with her assertion.” 

Jim nods.  “All right then, your turn.” 

“Have you ever had intercourse with a farm animal?” 

Jim laughs so hard he cries.  “Oh – my _– god,_ I am going to _kill_ Uhura!” he says, clutching at his stomach and wheezing.  My question had the intended effect – the conversation was light again. 

“I can’t _believe_ she told you I said that!”

“I admit, I did not find it particularly amusing until now.”

“That was probably one of my worst pick-up attempts ever,” he admits.  “Awful, really.  I’m surprised we’re even friendly now after the hell I put her through.  Anyways, your answer is no,” he adds, smiling up at me with tears in his eyes.  The food lies forgotten on the floor. 

“I believe it is your turn.” 

“Okay.  Have you ever had sex?”

“Negative.  Beyond T’Pring, Nyota has been my only experience with a relationship.” 

“Wait, who’s T’Pring?”

“She was my wife.”

“ _What_?” 

“Vulcans are bonded early, at the age of seven, in a fashion that is more than an engagement but less than a marriage.  T’Pring elected to sever our bond after hearing of my emotional outburst at school, and my mother refused to have me betrothed to another.  She wished that I select a mate based on mutual affection.”

“She wanted you to marry for love.”

“Yes.” 

“Your mom sounds like she was pretty amazing.” 

“I believe she would have liked you.” 

“Really?” he asks, moving to sit next to me.  We are now sitting side-by-side, our backs against the couch.

“Yes,” I say simply. 

“Your turn,” Jim says, settling his head against the seat cushions and closing his eyes.  I feel affection radiating from him, although his skin is not in contact with my own. 

“Have you ever had sexual relations with a man?” 

Jim opens his eyes, surprised.  “Yeah, of course.  Don’t tell me word only reached you of my skills with the ladies!  I’m insulted.” 

I am unsure of what to say.  The spark inside me grows to a flame, and I push it down, frightened of what it may mean. 

“I am afraid that is all Nyota chose to relate.” 

“My god,” Jim says, sighing and closing his eyes again.  “She was selling me short.” 

“I am unaware of the meaning of that phrase.” 

“Quit it, Spock,” he says, nudging me in the side with his elbow, but his tone is playful.  “Ask me a question.”   

I pause.  “Have you ever done something you regret, such that if you could go back and change the past, you would do so?” 

I do not know where the question came from.  It is most illogical, the thought of changing time.  _I'wak mesukh-yut t'on._ The present is the crossroads of both past and future – to change the past would be to alter both present and future.

“Yeah, you know what?  I have,” Jim says.  His voice is no longer light.  “When we were on the bridge, that day, when everything happened-”

_Now, what is it with you, Spock? Hm? Your planet was just destroyed, your mother murdered, and you’re not even upset!_

“-what I said-”

_If you are presuming that these experiences in any way impede my ability to command this ship, you are mistaken._

_And yet you were the one who said fear was necessary for command.  I mean, did you see his ship?  Did you see what he did?_

“I look back on that every day.”

_Yes, of course I did._

_So are you afraid or aren’t you?_

“And Jesus, Spock-”

_I will not allow you to lecture me about the merits of emotion._

“I wish I could take it all back.”

_Then why don’t you stop me?_

“And I wonder-”

_Step away from me, Mr. Kirk._

_What is it like not to feel anger… or heartbreak… or the need to stop at nothing to avenge the death of the woman who gave birth to you?_

_Back away from me._

“-how you ever managed to forgive me.”

 _You feel_ nothing _!  It must not even_ compute _for you!  You_ never _loved her!_

“How I ever thought you didn’t know the pain that accompanies the loss of someone you love.”

_I’m scared, Spock.  Help me not be.  How do you choose not to feel?_

_I do not know.  Right now, I am failing._

The flame becomes a fire, burning deep within my katra. 

“You did what was necessary,” I say. 

“That doesn’t make it right.” 

He touches my elbow. 

“I really am sorry, about your mom.  I’m not sure I’ve ever told you that before.  But I am.” 

“Thank you.” 

Neither of us speak for 3.46 minutes.  His hand lingers on my arm, and I feel a strange desire to take his hand in mine, to feel the texture of his skin against my own.

“All right, I’m beat,” Jim says at last.  His fingers leave my sleeve, and he begins to gather the take-out cartons strewn across the floor. 

 _Let me help_. 

“Allow me,” I say, and gently remove them from his hands. 

“Thanks,” he says, and he smiles before retiring to the bedroom.  I watch him go.  His sleep pants are low on his hips, and he walks gingerly, as if afraid he will snap in half. 

_Moyo huona mbali kuliko kichwa._

I cast out Nyota’s words and smother the flames in my katra. 

I finish cleaning and enter the bedroom.  Jim is already asleep, occupying only one side of the bed.  I find myself smiling, imagining what it would be like to sleep with his cool skin pressed against mine. 

I shake myself, dispelling the image, and begin my meditation.  Jim is my Captain and my friend. 

I do not love him. 

_How I ever thought you didn’t know the pain that accompanies the loss of someone you love._

_I saw what it did to you._

I do not love him.

_Spock, what does the Captain mean to you?_

_The Captain is my friend._

I do not love him. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wasn't gonna post this 'til tonight, but I'm a fucking pushover so here you go <33 Thank you all so much!
> 
> Translations:  
> Shiyau thol'es k'thorai ri k'ahm. - Nobility lies in action, not in name.


	5. In the Balance (Jim)

The moon glows over the bay, casting a silver reflection on the water.  The ocean shimmers, and I lean on the guardrail, enjoying the mild breeze that smells of brine and salt. 

Classes start in two days, and I am terrified. 

I’ve never pictured myself teaching – I’m not really a classroom type of person, and I struggled through an advanced track at the academy specifically so that I could spend _less_ time trapped in school and _more_ time out in space. 

“Dammit, Spock,” I say to the railing.  “Why’d you have to go doing something nice, like getting me a job?”

“What the hell do you think you’re doing out here?” 

 _Bones_.  I smile.  We’ve seen each other at least every other day since my release from the hospital – he’s come to check in on me, administering hypos intermittently with a considerable amount of protesting on my part.  He’s gonna take some time off of work, once the semester starts.  Most of the injuries from the incident have been taken care of at this point, and the hospital is quiet again – they don’t need the steadiest hands in the ‘Fleet.  I think it’s going to be good for him, spending time with Jo.  Getting away from the west coast for a little while, going back to his roots – back to Georgia.  I picture him sitting underneath a live oak tree, mint julep in hand, playing with his little girl, and my smile grows wider.

“Aw, come on Bones, it’s beautiful,” I protest as he joins me on the railing.  He’s right, though – it’s really late, nearing 0300, but I can’t seem to get to sleep.  My room seems unwelcoming, all empty sheets and dark corners. 

“You should be wearing another shirt, at least,” he says, unrelenting.  “You’re gonna catch a cold.” 

“I’ll be fine, Len, I’m not a kid,” I laugh. 

“Sometimes I’m not so sure,” he says, and I punch him playfully on the arm. 

“Be fair, now.” 

He smiles.  “Where’s Spock?” 

“No idea, probably meditating or something.” 

“You know, Jim, you probably want to keep it quiet.” 

“Hm?” I ask absently, tracing designs in the dirt of the pathway with my feet. 

“The fact that you’ve been staying over at his place.” 

“What – Bones, you know it’s not like that.” 

He shrugs.  “Deny it all you want, it’s what people are gonna think if they find out.” 

I know he’s probably right.  After the incident at the warp core, the first time Spock and I had gone to check on the repairs of the _Enterprise_ , Uhura had sent me a message and asked to meet with me. 

We’d sat down for a cup of coffee, and I thought about how, only a year ago, I would have killed to have a date with Uhura. 

She had come to the coffee shop wearing a yellow summer dress that made her skin shine like burnished bronze, but this time, I barely paid note to her figure.  It was hard to get anything to hold my interest anymore – I was too invested in a stupid, futile, crush. 

“Hey, Jim,” she had said as we sat down in two armchairs.  The café was a favorite amongst ‘Fleet students, and I’d seen her there studying, before – well.  It was familiar, almost comforting. 

“All right, what’s going on?” I had asked, wrapping my hands around my ceramic mug.  Coffee had become like water for me; I drank a lot of it on days when I wouldn’t be staying over at Spock’s.  I was afraid to fall asleep on my own. 

“This is going to sound really blunt, but – I heard about what happened, on the _Enterprise_.” 

My eyes narrowed.  “Who told you?” 

_“Sikio halilali na njaa.”_

“No, you don’t get to use Swahili proverbs on me and then not give me a straight answer.  Who told you?”

“Scotty, of course.” 

“You two have been spending a lot of time together,” I threw out casually, hoping to change the subject. 

“I didn’t come here to talk about me and Monty,” she said, flustered. 

“ _Monty_?” 

She flushed even further.  “Forget I called him that!  Just – damn it, Jim, you’re impossible!”

“Now you’re just sounding like Bones,” I said, entertained, and tried my coffee.  It was as good as I remembered. 

“No, what I _meant_ to talk to you about is – is there something going on between you and Spock?” 

“Uhura, the guy is basically as uptight and repressed as any humanoid can get.  What do you think?”

“I think that, if there was anyone whom he would feel comfortable engaging in a relationship, it’d be you.” 

I rolled my eyes.  “Come on, Nyota.  He told me about the whole mind-meld compatibility thing – with, you know, sex and all.  And let’s face it, if _you_ weren’t good enough for him, I’m probably, like, twelve light years away from being compatible with him.  We’re friends.” 

She surveyed me skeptically.  “And you’re happy with that?  It’s what you want?”

“Doesn’t matter what I want,” I said, and took a drink.  “We have a great professional – and _platonic_ – relationship.” 

“ _Undugu wapita urafiki._ ” 

“Quit it, you know I can’t understand you, I’m not Spock.  What does it mean?”

“It means “brotherhood is greater than friendship.””  She shrugged.  “You and Spock have something he and I never had.”

“Why are we talking about this?  So Spock and I are like brothers, so what?” 

“We are talking about this because four hundred people aren’t _blind_ , Jim.  They have eyes, too, and they know what they see.”

“Are you trying to imply that my crew-”

“Your crew makes their own assumptions when they see you eye-fucking your First Officer every day.”

“I do not!”

“Yes, you do.” 

“Fine.  I’ll work on my public image.  Happy?” 

“Not really.”

“For the record, I am _not_ into him.  I’m just – tactile.” 

She rolled her eyes.  “Just – don’t hurt him, all right?”

“You know I wouldn’t.”

She smiled at me and leaned back in her chair.  “Good.”

“So… _Monty_?”

“Oh my god, I am _leaving_.  I knew this was a mistake,” she laughed, grabbing her purse off the ground. 

“Wait, one more thing, before you go.”

She reluctantly lowered herself back into her seat.  “What?”

“What does _t’hy’la_ mean?” 

She froze, so completely she could have been carved out of stone.  It was a very Spock reaction. 

“ _What did you just ask me_?”

“ _T’hy’la_.  What does it translate to?” 

“Where did you hear that?”

I waved my hand.  “Doesn’t matter.  Do you know what it means, or not?”

“That,” she said, swinging her bag over her shoulder, “is a question for Spock.” 

I’ve been pestering her since, and she still hasn’t told me anything. 

“Jim, what are you even trying to accomplish there, huh?” Bones asks me, nudging my shoulder. 

“I don’t know, Bones,” I say, glancing up at the stars. 

“You really care that much for him?”

I glance over at him.  “God… I don’t know how to explain it, really.  I don’t know when it happened.  One minute he was this fucking pain in the ass, questioning every damn decision I made, and the next… we’re playing chess, and taking meals, and sparring together.  I’m spending every waking moment I _can_ with the guy, and I’m not even sure when we became _friends_. 

“I don’t know what to do anymore, Bones.  It’s so _fucking hard_ , not touching him, remembering boundaries, and sometimes he looks at me, and I forget how to _breathe_.” 

“You’re one of the smartest people I know, Jim, but you can be such a damn idiot sometimes.”

I turn my head to look at him. 

“You’re in love with him, kid,” Bones says, clapping me on the shoulder.  “Hate to break it to ya.” 

“I’m not _in love_ with-” I stop.  

“Shit.  I’m in love with Spock.” 

Bones bursts out laughing, and squeezes my shoulder before replacing his hand on the railing.  I follow the movement, and return my eyes to the sea. 

_Wait._

I look back at his hand. 

Bones has six fingers. 

“Len, your hand-”

“Hm?”  He runs his fingers through his hair.

“You – you have-”

I back away, feet stumbling over something hard.  I look down to find that it’s a root.

The waterfront is dirt, gravel, pavement.  There are no roots. 

“Bones,” I gasp, looking up but Bones isn’t there anymore. 

It’s _him_. 

I can’t scream.  I can’t remember how to move my body, how to make the muscles and sinews and tendons work together to create some semblance of running or breathing. 

“James Tiberius Kirk.” 

_Citizen, what is your name?_

_My name is James Tiberius Kirk!_

My mouth comes online. 

“What do you want?” 

“One of nine,” he whispers. 

“You’re dead.  They found your body.  _You died_.” 

“Burned beyond recognition.” 

His fingers brush my jawline, rasp against the stubble I’ve grown out. 

“Well, haven’t you grown up well?”

“You’re dead,” I whisper.  “You’re not real.  _You’re not real_.” 

“You think this is a dream?” he asks, and he is behind me, circling me like a predator circles prey. 

I have never felt so helpless. 

“Bones had six fingers.  In dreams.  In dreams you have extra fingers.” 

“Look at that sign, Jim boy,” he hisses in my ear.  “Can you read in dreams?”

It’s tacked to a tree, three feet away.  The words are straight from the black constellations of my mind.

_The revolution is successful. But survival depends on drastic measures. Your continued existence represents a threat to the well-being of society. Your lives mean slow death to the more valued members of the colony. Therefore, I have no alternative but to sentence you to death._

“No,” I breathe.  “No.  This isn’t real.” 

“If it’s not real, why isn’t your beloved First Officer here?  Why isn’t he coming to save you?”

_You are safe now, ashayam._

“Spock,” I whisper.

“Maybe, after I finished what I started all those long years ago, I’ll go pay him a visit.” 

“No.  Not Spock,” I yell, struggling against the invisible bonds that hold me in place, begging my body to respond to my mind. 

_Spock can’t die._

“He’s a half-breed.”  His words are poisoned honey in my ear.  “He can’t even _reproduce_.  His survival merely limits resources for those more… worthy.” 

I am screaming, but nobody is around to hear me. 

_wake up wake up wake up waKE UP_

He pushes a blade to my throat. 

“I want to see the life drain from your body.  James Tiberius Kirk, the boy who defied me.”

He makes a small cut in my neck, and I stare back at him defiantly. 

“Did you think you were so much better, because you worked to keep the other scum alive?  Did you think it somehow redeemed you?  You were always meant to die, James.  You are living on borrowed time.”

“Go ahead.  Kill me.”  My voice shakes.

His finger brushes through my blood. 

“This is not yours.  Whose is this?” 

I say nothing. 

“So you have been there.  What is it like, Kirk?  What is it like to see the end?  I would not know.” 

He raises the bloodied finger to his lips, and begins to recite.

“To be or not to be, that is the question”

 _The wind blows back my hair and I scream as I drive, quarry coming and closing and I change gears and_ leap

He starts to nick at my skin, small cuts of the blade that leave me bleeding all over my body.

“Whether ‘tis nobler in the mind to suffer the slings and arrows of outrageous fortune”

_Black sludge covers the ground in shallow pools, festering, for as far as the eye can see, and the smell of burning flesh hangs in the air_

“Or take arms against a sea of troubles”

_Scrabbling at the dirt hands clawing for purchase and I feel a fingernail come loose and the pain shoots through my hand but it is lost in the pleasure disappointment of dodging the end once again_

“And by opposing, end them.”

_Pain blossoms like wildflowers through my body, great blooms and buds and small shoots of thorns on my skin as the air burns and sears and takes what it owns_

“To die”

_I’m scared, Spock._

“To sleep, no more”

_Help me not be._

“And by a sleep to say we end the heartache and the thousand natural shocks that flesh is heir to”

_Your cells were heavily irradiated.  We had no choice._

“‘tis a consummation devoutly to be wished _._ ” 

_You’re not making the climb._

“To die, to sleep, to sleep, perchance to dream”

_wake up wake up wake up WAKE UP WAKE UP_

“Ay, there’s the rub, for in that sleep of death what dreams may come when we have shuffled off this mortal coil must give us pause.”

 _I can’t go back because here there is death and fear and I’ve buried it in my mind a long, long time ago and it’s_ forgotten

“There’s the respect that makes calamity of so long life.”

_I don’t believe in no-win scenarios._

“For who would bear the whips and scorns of time _”_

_You’re here, aren’t you?_

_“_ Th’ oppressor’s wrong, the proud man’s contumely”

_You got something to say, son?  Tomorrow’s too late._

“The pangs of despised love”

 _Because you are my friend._  

“the law’s delay”

_You filed a report?_

“The insolence of office, and the spurns that patient merit of th’ unworthy takes”

 _You feel_ nothing _!  It must not even_ compute _for you!  You_ never _loved her!_

“When he himself might his quietus make”

_And this… this is what you would have done.  It was only logical._

“With a bare bodkin?”

The knife sinks into my chest.

“Who would fardels bear, to grunt and sweat under a weary life”

_D’you like being the only genius level repeat offender in the Midwest?_

“But that the dread of something after death”

_Maybe I love it._

“That undiscovered country from whose bourn”

_You were barely dead._

“no traveler returns, puzzles the will”

_Kup-fun-tor ha'kiv na'ish du stau?_

“And makes us rather bear those ills we have”

_My name is James Tiberius Kirk!_

“Than fly to others that we know not of.”

_Sure learned his lesson._

“Thus conscience doth make cowards of us all”

_The purpose is to experience fear, fear in the face of certain death, to accept that fear, and maintain control of oneself and one's crew._

“And thus the native hue of resolution is sicklied o’er with the pale cast of thought”

_And yet you were the one who said fear was necessary for command.  I mean, did you see his ship?  Did you see what he did?_

“And enterprises of great pith and moment”

_I have no idea what I'm supposed to do._

“With this regard their currents turn awry”

_I want you to know why I couldn’t let you die… why I went back for you._

“And lose the name of action.”

_Because you are my friend._

He twists the knife. 

“Jim!” 

Someone is yelling my name. 

“Captain!” 

 _Spock_. 

Do I remember going to sleep?  I don’t remember waking up. 

I open my eyes. 

Spock’s face is mere inches from my own, and he is worried; I can feel his fear rolling into me through our skin because he has one hand on my cheek and the other on my bare shoulder.   

“Jim,” he breathes, sounding relieved, but I am not convinced. 

_If it’s not real, why isn’t your beloved First Officer here?  Why isn’t he coming to save you?_

“No,” I shout, and scramble away from him, putting a solid two feet of distance between us.  I miss the feel of his skin on mine. 

“What is wrong?” he asks, and I notice a tremor in his hands. 

“Hold up your hands,” I say, still breathing heavily. 

Spock looks confused, but does as I ask.  I count – ten fingers.

“Can I-” I gesture towards the copy of _Oliver Twist_ that still lies on my bedside table. 

He hands me the book wordlessly.  I open it to a random page, unconcerned with the passage, and begin to read aloud.

“There is a kind of sleep that steals upon us sometimes, which, while it holds the body prisoner, does not free the mind from a sense of things about it, and enable it to ramble at its pleasure. So far as an overpowering heaviness, a prostration of strength, and an utter inability to control our thoughts or power of motion, can be called sleep, this is it; and yet we have a consciousness of all that is going on about us; and if we dream at such a time, words which are really spoken, or sounds which really exist at the moment, accommodate themselves with surprising readiness to our visions, until reality and imagination become so strangely blended that it is afterwards almost a matter of impossibility to separate the two. Nor is this, the most striking phenomenon, incidental to such a state. It is an undoubted fact, that although our senses of touch and sight be for the time dead, yet our sleeping thoughts, and the visionary scenes that pass before us, will be influenced, and materially influenced, by the mere silent presence of some external object: which may not have been near us when we closed our eyes: and of whose vicinity we have had no waking consciousness.”

I breathe a sigh of relief. 

“Jim,” Spock repeats, looking incredibly, heart-wrenchingly lost. 

“Sorry,” I say, tossing the book back on the table.  “Had to make sure.” 

He says nothing, but that look has not left his eyes.  It is haunted. 

“What time is it?” I ask, scrubbing my hand across my face, checking my fingers one more time.  Ten.

“0330,” he says.  I want to smooth the creases from his brow. 

_You’re in love with him, kid._

“Fuck.” 

“I would not be averse to company.” 

I glance up at him.  “Spock, I can’t just keep invading your space.  It’s not fair to you.  Besides-”

“Kroykah,” he says quietly, but there is power behind the word.  “Please, Jim.  Let me help.” 

_A hundred years or so from now, I believe, a famous novelist will write a classic using that theme. He'll recommend those three words even over ‘I love you.’_

I can feel tears pricking at my eyes, and I nod dumbly, unable to answer him vocally for fear of losing my fragile grip on my sanity. 

He helps me out of bed, and my elbow feels warm where he touches it. 

“You know you don’t have to do this, right?” I ask as we enter his apartment.  It feels more like home than mine does. 

“I would not offer my bed if I was merely acting out of obligation,” Spock murmurs as he turns down the covers. 

“Right.”  I am shaking, so I waste no time getting under the blankets, despite the warm temperature of Spock’s apartment, and 

He climbs in next to me. 

Even though I’ve been sleeping in Spock’s bed on and off for a month, he’s never slept with me before – he’s always meditating.  I’m not sure what to say. 

“Not meditating?” 

“I will find no peace tonight,” he says, turning on his side so he is facing me.  His hair is slightly mussed on the side that touches the pillow, and the usually angular lines of his face are soft with darkness. 

Spock is beautiful. 

I shudder particularly violently, and without even asking, Spock moves closer and wraps his arms around me.  My heart stops working for about three seconds, which is terrifying because I’m positive he can hear its beating.  His sleep robes press against my bare chest, and his fingers rub warm circles into the exposed skin of my back.  I find myself relaxing under his ministrations, and I focus on my breathing. 

Spock smells like spice and heat and desert – the way Arizona smells at 2100 in the summer, after the sun has gone down and the sand has started to cool.  He smells exotic, foreign, yet comforting and familiar.  I move my head so that my nose is closer to his neck, and he presses forward slightly, encasing me more fully in his arms. 

“Sleep, Jim,” he whispers.  “I am here.” 

“Thank you, Spock,” I mumble, smiling against his skin – I am already half asleep, and it slips out before I can stop it. “Love you.”

“ _Si mimi ni moyo,”_ he whispers, and I drift.

***

I wake slowly, peacefully, for what seems like the first time in ages.  The bed is empty next to me, but I can smell coffee through the closed door.  I count my fingers – ten.  I’m awake.

I get out of bed and grab one of Spock’s shirts – my favorite of his, dark blue and made of light fabric.  I don’t need to be parading around his apartment half-naked.  I’ve been pretty self-conscious about my body recently, anyways. 

“Morning,” I say as I enter the kitchen.  Spock is leaning on the counter, cooking eggs, and there’s a steaming cup of coffee next to him.

Spock is making me breakfast.  I smile. 

“Good morning, Jim,” Spock says, handing me the cup of coffee.  Our fingers brush, and his eyes lock on my shirt. 

“Oh, yeah, borrowed your shirt.  Hope you don’t mind.”

“On the contrary, it fits you quite well.” 

I flush.  “Thanks.”

There’s a knock at the door. 

“Expecting company?” I ask, moving to answer it. 

“Negative.” 

I open the door. 

“Didn’t expect to find _you_ here,” Bones says gruffly, his voice dripping with sarcasm as he pushes his way past me. 

“Hey!” 

“Don’t even start with me, kid.  It’s your last damn check-up, you could at least cooperate.” 

“Good morning, Leonard,” Spock says as we reenter the kitchen.

“So now you got the computer making breakfast for you?” Bones huffs, setting his medkit on the table and pulling out a hypo.

“Don’t call him that, Bones, and don’t you dare get that thing anywhere near me.  I’ve had enough hypos in the past two months to last me two fucking lifetimes.”

“It would be wise to comply with the Doctor’s request.” 

“Don’t you go taking his side, Spock – _shit_!”

Bones steps back, empty hypo in hand.  I rub my neck. 

“One of these days, Bones, there’s gonna be a reckoning.” 

“I look forward to it,” Bones says, lifting one of his eyebrows.  I scowl. 

Spock slides the finished eggs onto a plate along with sliced fruit and sets it on the table. 

“Thanks, Spock.” 

“It is my pleasure.” 

As he scans me with a medical tricorder, Bones gives me a very obvious look that basically shouts, _well?_  

I shake my head minutely. 

His eyebrows draw together, and his head tilts slightly: _What in the Sam Hill are you waiting for?_

I widen my eyes, nodding slightly towards Spock. _Bones, he is_ right there.  _We’ll talk about it later._

“Well, your readings look normal,” Bones says out loud.  “I’m clearing you for regular activity.  Just – _no_ excessive workouts, and you stick to a healthy diet.  You gotta put on some weight, Jim, you look like a skeleton.  Christ, _Spock’s_ shirts fit you.”

“Is that meant to be an insult, Doctor?” Spock asks, but his eyes are light and his tone is humorous. 

“Don’t joke, it makes me uncomfortable,” Bones grumbles, packing up the medkit.  “Jim, drinks later, my place, before I leave?”

“Sure.” 

“Alright.  Keep him out of trouble while I’m gone,” Bones says, looking directly at Spock and brandishing the medkit dangerously. 

“For the _last time_ , Bones, I’m not a kid.” 

He rolls his eyes.  “Tell that to all the biobeds you’ve ever been in,” he says before disappearing into the living room.  “See ya later, Jim, Pointy,” he calls back.  The front door opens and closes, and we are alone again. 

“So, Spock.  Been a while since we’ve sparred.” 

“I do not believe you are currently in any condition to be fighting me.” 

“Please?” I implore, giving him my most pathetic look. 

His eyes soften.  “One round.” 

“Three, come on.” 

“ _One_.” 

“Three.”

“Two.”

“Done.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Translations:  
> Sikio halilali na njaa. - An ear does not go to bed hungry (there's always plenty of gossip).  
> Si mimi ni moyo. - It is not I, it is the heart (It is not my fault, it is my heart that loves you). 
> 
> Spock revelations coming right up for y'all! <33 As always, thank you so much for reading (and reccing! Wow, that was awesome, museaway).
> 
> This chapter is better read with basic knowledge of the TOS episode "The Conscience of the King" and with a rudimentary, line-by-line understanding of Hamlet's "To be or not to be" soliloquy.


	6. A Single Word (Spock)

“So, I heard you and the Captain were sparring at the gym the other day.”

I glance at Nyota.  “I fail to see how this is relevant to our conversation concerning phonology in regional Orion dialects.” 

“It’s not,” she says, accepting the cup of tea I hand her.  “I’m changing the subject.” 

“Indeed.” 

She tucks her feet underneath her legs and reclines further on the couch.  Nyota’s apartment, like her personality, is warm and inviting.  It is decorated in an eclectic style, modern furniture contrasting with the various artifacts she collects on missions.  There are also several pieces of artwork from Africa, reflecting her heritage.  I find the space comforting. 

“So anyways, you and Jim.  Sparring.  Thought he wasn’t cleared for that yet.” 

“It was an activity he wished to perform.” 

“You couldn’t say no?”

“I find I am often unable to refuse the Captain anything, if he asks it of me.” 

She sips her tea. 

“So, how’d it go?”

“Jim has not had the opportunity to be active for nearly three months.  He is lacking his previous physique, although his reflexes are as fast as ever.”

Her eyes narrow.  “What are you not telling me?”

I glance down at my cup, hesitant.  “It is of no consequence.” 

“What happened, Spock?” 

“The Captain’s fighting style appears to have changed.  He employs 34.6% more Ju-Jitsu moves than he did before the incident with Khan.”

“It’s more personal.” 

“Affirmative.” 

A smile stretches across Nyota’s face.   I do not understand her reaction.

“Did that make you uncomfortable?”

_Spock, what does the Captain mean to you?_

I pause. “Negative.” 

“Did you…?”

I feel my cheeks flush, and I quickly regulate the flow of blood.  Our sparring had been physical before, but this had been different.

“All right, Spock, you ready for this?”

Jim stood across from me on the wrestling mat, bare-chested.  Although much of his muscle mass had been lost, his pectorals were still defined against the rest of his abdomen.  I found it hard to avert my eyes from the expanse of pale skin in front of me.  

I remembered how he felt in my arms. 

How his flesh moved against bone, soft and cool against my own as my fingers painted circles on his lower back.  How he had arched into me, amenable to the intimacy of our position, inhaling deeply as if he appreciated my scent.  How his nose had pressed against my collarbone, a cold point that warmed with the heat of my body.  How the darkness had seemed to encase us in a universe of its own, and the stars had shrunk to the pinpricks of his eyes.

How he had whispered, “Love you,” as they drifted shut. 

_Moyo huona mbali kuliko kichwa._

_I do not love him._

“Affirmative.” 

I was careful with Jim, moving slowly and allowing him easy blows.  He was quickly winded, and minimized his movement, choosing instead to move closer to me.  His body came into contact with mine, and heat rushed through the place where our skin touched.  I was momentarily distracted by the sensation, and he pinned me to the mat. 

“You’re going easy on me,” he accused, body thrown haphazardly over my own, his forearm holding down my shoulders, his face mere inches away.  I could feel his breath – cool, like his skin, and smelling faintly of coffee. 

“You are still not back to full health,” I said, tapping his leg gently to indicate he could release me. 

He did not move. 

“Come on, Spock, show me what you’ve got,” Jim whispered.  He moved his arm, and as he did so, his hand brushed the exposed skin above my shirt, at the base of my neck. 

“The Captain projects quite loudly.  I felt happiness.”  I pause.  “Affection.” 

Affection was not at all the correct term.  As the tips of Jim’s fingers had touched my skin, arousal and an intense desire flowed through our contact.  I watched as Jim’s pupils dilated, his already rapid heartbeat increasing by 14.6%. 

Nyota leans forward, and her eyes betray an unspoken question.

I reversed our positions so that I was hovering over Jim, taking care not to crush him. 

“That’s better,” he breathed.  Lust seeped from his pores. 

“His mind is fragile, Nyota.  It is possible our closeness has stemmed from the emotional trauma surrounding the events of his death.”

I carefully disengaged from Jim and stood.  He did not move, and I could see that he was breathing heavily as he looked at me with eyes that were almost black, ringed by thin slices of cerulean. 

“My mother had a saying – _kuwapo moyoni, halipo machoni._ ”

I held out my hand to help him up.  He took it, and the emotion I felt through the contact was new.  It was affection, attraction, joy, longing, despair, disappointment, hope, all at once. 

_Love you._

I am lost.

“I do not know what to do.”

_Spock, in this case, do yourself a favor: Put aside logic. Do what feels right._

“Spock,” Nyota says, and her voice is soft, sympathetic.  She sets down her now empty mug.  “I asked you this once, months ago, but – _what does the Captain mean to you_?”

_Si mimi ni moyo._

“He is many things.  He is, and always shall be, my friend.” 

“And?”

“He has become like a brother to me.” 

She smiles gently. 

“Spock.” 

I look at her, dismayed. 

“I find I am emotionally compromised.”

“You always have been, where he’s concerned.” 

“What is the proper course of action?  I remain uncertain of his feelings.” 

She grins.  “He has classes until 1800, right?” 

“Affirmative.” 

“Wait for him.  Ask him to dinner.” 

“Dinner?” I repeat, uncertain.  Jim and I have had dinner together many times before; I believe he may not recognize my intentions. 

“Yeah, Spock.  A date.” 

I nod.  Desiring an escape from the topic of the Captain and myself, I say, “Jim has told me you have been spending a significant amount of time with Mr. Scott.” 

Nyota looks away from me, blushing.  “Now you’re changing the subject.” 

“Indeed.  He specifically mentioned an incident where you called him-”

“Oh, no,” she interrupts, covering her face with her hands.  “Not you too.” 

I wait.  She sighs heavily.

“Yeah, we’ve gone out a couple times.  He’s sweet.  Earnest.  We’re very different, but – well, _kupendana si kufanana rohoni._   He’s dynamic,” she adds, smiling. 

“I am happy for you.” 

“Thanks, Spock.”  She glances up and checks the clock on the wall.  “You should get going – you’ve got someone to see later, and you need to change.”

“Is my dress in some way lacking?”

“Spock, you can’t take Jim out to dinner in your uniform.  It’ll just make you two more recognizable.    

She is right.  I nod. 

“Thank you for the tea, Nyota.” 

“Good luck, _ndugu_.”  She stands and kisses me on the cheek.  She has become more comfortable touching me in recent weeks; I suspect it is because she is now engaged in a relationship with Mr. Scott, and feels the gesture will not be misconstrued. 

I nod, and depart her quarters.

The walk back across the Academy campus takes little time, and I place the call as soon as I reach my apartment. 

It takes only 2.6 minutes for the call to connect, despite the fact that it is past midnight on New Vulcan. 

“Mr. Spock,” my counterpart greets me, smiling gently.  I am unaccustomed to seeing such an expression on my own face; despite his age, my counterpart and I have the same genetics, and thus the same features. 

“Mr. Spock,” I echo.

“I trust you are aware of the time?”

“I would not have contacted you were it not urgent.” 

He lifts his eyebrow.  “Continue.”

“I have called to discuss the Captain.” 

“Ah,” he says, leaning forward slightly. 

“Did you harbor romantic affection for the Kirk of your timeline?” 

“Affirmative.” 

“Did he reciprocate your affections?”

“Yes.” 

I nod.  I now believe with 98.25% certainty that I have not been fabricating Jim’s advances. 

“That is not all you wished to ask me.” 

“Negative.  I am worried about him.” 

“Explain.”

“Since the incident with Khan, Jim has begun to experience vivid nightmares.  He often has difficulty differentiating dreams from reality, and the episodes are only becoming more common.”

“This is… concerning.” 

“Jim appears to find my presence comforting, and his sleep quality improves by 76.8% when he spends the night at my apartment.  He has, however, been experiencing episodes during waking hours as well.  I worry that his actions towards me have stemmed from a feeling of stability which he associates with myself, and I am also uncertain he will pass his upcoming psychological evaluation.  If he receives results that are not positive, they will not give him back the _Enterprise_.” 

My counterpart frowns.  “Why have you called me, Spock?”

“I would like your advice on the best possible course of action.  I find my logic severely compromised where Jim is involved.” 

“I experienced a similar problem with my Jim,” he says with a sad smile.  I see the loss and heartbreak in his eyes, and it terrifies me. 

“It seems as if what Jim needs is something to ground him in reality.  A constant.  I do not believe you will be able to aid in the cessation of these nightmares; Jim underwent a great trauma when he died, and his mind is rebuilding itself.  With an anchor, however, I believe he may begin to find peace.”

“What are you suggesting?”

“Jim trusts you as he trusts no one else.  _You_ are his anchor, the constant to which he returns in times of disorder.  This is not a recent development, but rather the basis of your friendship – reason to chaos, logic to emotion, dark to light.  You are Jim’s opposite, and yet at your katra, you are the same.  You know this.  You have felt it.” 

_Friend. Brother._

“Affirmative.” 

“He must not lose sight of who he is.  You are foils – by knowing you, he can more fully know himself.” 

“You are saying I must give myself to the Captain.” 

“Spock,” he says, and his eyes soften.  “Have you not done so already?”

***

Jim is nothing if not informal.  He is seated on his desk, neglecting the holoboard behind him and entirely ignoring the podium erected for the convenience of instructors.  He has foregone his uniform, and is instead dressed in a pair of jeans that are rolled four centimeters above his ankles and a thin, gray sweater that hangs loosely about his body.  He is still too thin. 

I watch from the doorway as he runs his hand over his stubble and through his hair, laughing at a comment made by one of the cadets.  It is 1805, and not one of the students has made any indication of a desire to leave; they listen to his every word with something resembling reverence. 

Jim sees me, and the smile that stretches across his face makes my katra burn.  I am dressed in jeans and the shirt he wore the morning after –

_Love you._

Quite illogically, I find I now prefer this shirt over all others I own. 

“Holy shit, why don’t y’all ever tell me when time’s up?” Jim exclaims as he glances at the clock.  “Get the hell out of here.”  His students laugh and begin to file out, passing me as they go.  Some give me anxious glances, and others merely appear curious.  I do not allow my expression to change.

“Professor,” one cadet begins nervously, “what are-”

“I’m not a professor, just call me Kirk,” he says absently as he packs his bag. 

“Right, um, Kirk, are you – do you have plans?  Like, after class?  Um, now?”

I notice Jim’s shoulders drop infinitesimally.  The cadet is aesthetically pleasing, of slim build with long blonde hair.  She is Jim’s “type.”  I find that I am, illogically, resentful of her. 

“Yeah, I do.”  Jim glances meaningfully in my direction. 

His lie is fascinating, as he is not aware of my purpose for being in his classroom. 

“Oh!” the cadet says, blushing.  “Oh my god, I – sorry, I’d – I didn’t know.  I’d heard, but – apologies, sir,” she says, looking anxiously at me.  I raise one eyebrow, and she turns away, her face flushing a deeper shade of crimson. 

“Ready, Commander?” Jim asks, ignoring the cadet. 

“Affirmative, Captain.” 

“Until Friday, then, Richards.”  Jim strides past her, rolling his eyes at me and mouthing “ _oh my god.”_   Her back is turned to us, and she does not see his actions.

“Spock, thanks so much for meeting me,” he says loudly, planting his hand firmly on the small of my back and steering me out of the room.  My heart jumps in my side. 

“Sorry about that,” he says as soon as we are out of hearing range.  “She’s been hitting on me since the first day of class.  Unbelievable.” 

“I do not mind.” 

“Not that it matters, but why’d you decide to stop by?”

“Would you like to accompany me to dinner?” 

“Sure.  Officer’s mess?” 

I hesitate.  “I was thinking of something more formal.”

“You want to go out?”

“Affirmative.” 

We reach his office, and he turns to me, confusion evident in his gaze. 

“Um.  I mean, sure.  Yeah, where do you want to go?  There’s a new vegetarian place open, about ten minutes from here, if you want?”  He sets his bag down, distractedly picking at the hem of his shirt. 

“That would be agreeable.” 

“All right, it’s a date.” 

His words are innocent, but my heart throbs painfully in my side. 

_Si mimi ni moyo._

***

“I do not believe it is wise to attempt to break the transwarp barrier.” 

“Scotty’s never made any improvements to the ship that have harmed, her, right?”

“That is debatable.”

“Ok, not _seriously_ harmed her – I mean, sure, they can be a bit unstable in some situations-”

“Those situations are precisely when the ship must be functioning at optimum efficiency to ensure the safety of both vessel and crew.  His “improvements,” although well-intentioned, may compromise the integrity of the ship.” 

“Yeah, I know.  You’re right.  It’s just – it’d be _so cool_.” 

“Undoubtedly.” 

He laughs.

“Hey, can I try some of that?  What is it, polenta?” 

“Indeed.” 

“Thanks,” Jim says, reaching across the table to take a bite of my meal.  It is an intimate gesture, yet I find I am still unable to bring up the topic of our relationship. 

_Dakh pthak. Nam-tor ri ret na'fan-kitok fa tu dakh pthak._

I fear rejection.  It is easier to continue our current situation than it is to risk our relationship. 

“Wow, Spock, this is really good.” 

I nod, and he takes another forkful.  His plate is already empty. 

“Hey, you went to see Uhura today, right?” 

“Affirmative.” 

“How was that?”

“Enlightening,” I say carefully. 

“Wanna elaborate?” he asks, switching the position of our plates so that he may consume the rest of my meal.  I do not mind. 

“We discussed differences in phonology between various Orion dialects.” 

Jim chokes on his wine.  “God, Spock, could you two _be_ more dry?” 

I frown.  “It is an interesting line of conversation.” 

“Yeah, for computers,” he says, but he is smiling, and his voice is teasing. 

“I inquired about her relationship with Mr. Scott.” 

I have his attention. 

“What did she say?!”

“They are, indeed, dating.” 

“I knew it!” Jim crows, finishing the last bite of polenta.  “They’re a cute couple.  Bit of a departure from her last boyfriend,” he says, eyes glinting. 

“They are remarkably different people.” 

“Well, at least if it doesn’t end well, it won’t be uncomfortable.  They’re both professionals.  Speaking of which, I know Scotty’s busy installing _dangerous_ ,” as he emphasizes the word, he glares at me, “improvements aboard the _Enterprise,_ but what’s Uhura been up to?” 

“She is teaching two courses on the Klingon language.  If you recall, the Federation wants all officers versed in Klingon customs and dialects in an attempt to improve diplomatic relations.” 

“I don’t remember hearing about that.”

“It was in the report that we were given at last week’s meeting.” 

“Oh.  Yeah, I didn’t read that.” 

Where I would have, at one time, felt annoyance at Jim’s words, I now merely feel affection. 

“I will summarize it for you.” 

“500 words or less, on my desk by tomorrow, Commander,” Jim says, grinning.  “Preferably less.”

“You appear to be adjusting well to your teaching position.” 

“Yeah, I think the kids seem to like me.” 

I allow myself a small smile.  “They are not, altogether, that much younger than yourself.” 

“Yeah, but… I don’t know, Spock, they just seem like kids.  After everything we’ve seen, I just feel… older, somehow.” 

“They respect you.” 

“Don’t know why,” he says.  His tone is light, but I know he does not jest.  I wait for him to continue. 

“They’re still happening.  Every time, it feels like a little bit more of me is slipping away.” 

“How often do they occur when you are awake?” 

“Once a day?  Nothing’s happened during my class yet, but – I mean, Spock, I can’t exactly excuse a fugue state.  It’s getting harder to separate what’s real from what’s not.”

“Clarify.” 

“Bones told me that, in dreams, you can’t read.  People have extra fingers.”  Jim takes a long drink from his wine glass.  “But sometimes, halfway through my day, letters get scrambled in words.  One second I can read them, the next – nothing.  It’s like gibberish.  And then – bam – a few seconds later, the words are back in their proper places.” 

He pauses. 

“Spock, I feel like I’m going crazy.  My psych eval is coming up, and it’s just been getting worse, and I’m afraid that when I go in, they’re gonna notice.  They’re gonna know, and I’m gonna lose the ship.” 

You _are his anchor, the constant to which he returns in times of disorder.  This is not a recent development, but rather the basis of your friendship – reason to chaos, logic to emotion, dark to light._

_What I am about to do, it doesn't make sense, it's not logical, it is a gut feeling! I have no idea what I'm supposed to do. I only know what I can do. The Enterprise and her crew needs someone on that chair who knows what he's doing. That's not me. It's you, Spock._

I do not know what to say to comfort him. 

 _It’s you, Spock_.

I swipe my credit chip. 

“What are you – you didn’t have to do that, Spock, I was going to get my own.”

“It is my pleasure,” I say.  “Chess?”

“Yeah,” Jim says, a wide smile stretching across his face.  “C’mon, it’s been like six games since I’ve beaten you.  Your ego needs to be brought down a notch.” 

“I assure you, Jim, I do not have an ego.” 

Jim laughs as we exit the restaurant.  It is late, and we begin the short walk back to our quarters along the quiet paths of Starfleet. 

The moon hangs low in the sky, and I study its shape as we walk. 

Jim notices.  “Vulcan didn’t have one, did it?”

“Negative.” 

“What do you think of ours?” 

“It is helpful for illumination during nighttime hours.”

“That’s not exactly a positive review.” 

“I prefer the sun.” 

“That’s funny,” Jim says, smiling at me.  My katra glows.  “’Cause I’ve always liked the moon better.  It’s more peaceful, mellow.  Less harsh and glaring.  Colder, sure, but warm in its own way.”

“Without the light provided by the sun, the moon would not be visible.”

_Dark to light._

“True,” Jim says.  His arm brushes mine as we walk, and he begins to hum.  The sound, although abstract and mathematically unsound, is pleasing.

He keys in the access code to my apartment, and he begins to set up the chess board as I make tea.  I find that I cannot recall when he acquired the code, but it does not bother me. 

“Thanks,” he says as I set a mug by his right hand. 

“You are welcome, Jim.” 

Uncharacteristically, Jim utilizes a classic King’s Gambit opening.  I look at him questioningly. 

“Thought I’d try something different tonight.” 

I nod, and we play in utter silence but for the sound of our breathing.  At one point, Jim’s skin brushes mine, and I watch as his pupils dilate. 

I am caught in stasis, unable to make an advance with Jim’s mind in such a tenuous state.  It would not be right, taking advantage of him in that way.  I resolve to wait until Jim makes his affections known.  My counterpart’s words circulate in my mind. 

_Jim trusts you as he trusts no one else._

You _must be his anchor_.

“Checkmate,” Jim says triumphantly after 36 minutes.  I tip my king, resigned.  I have been unable to find any consistent strategy that he uses, despite the many games we play together – Jim’s unpredictability is his greatest strength. 

“All right, I need to turn in,” Jim says, yawning widely.  “I had – well, I had a bit of a rough night last night.” 

“Stay,” I say.  The words have become habitual.  “You will sleep better here.” 

“Thanks, Spock,” he says, reaching out to clasp my shoulder.  “I’ll be right back, just gotta go grab some things.” 

“Of course.” 

Jim exits the apartment, and I retire to the bedroom.  I don sleep pants, having worn my last pair of robes, and move into the bathroom to brush my teeth; I remove my shirt entirely. 

“Hey, Spock, I’m out of toothpaste, can I borrow – _oh_.” 

Jim is standing in the bathroom door, gazing unabashedly at my chest. 

“Affirmative,” I say, handing it to him.  He reaches out and takes the tube, still staring distractedly at my body.  I feel my skin warm under his attention, and a pale green flush steals over my limbs and torso. 

Jim blinks rapidly.  “Uh, thanks,” he says.  I exit the bathroom, brushing his arm with my own on the way out.  Heat races through my veins and my katra is in flames. Far in the back of my mind, in a space that has been black with absence since I was a child. 

I freeze. 

“Hey, you okay?” 

I cannot respond. 

“Spock, what’s wrong?”

He takes my hand, and I am lost.  

_I want you to know why I couldn’t let you die… why I went back for you._

_Because you are my friend._

_He has become like a brother to me._

_I saw what it did to you._

_How could I have known, Spock?_

_Moyo huona mbali kuliko kichwa._  

_You are Jim’s opposite, and yet at your katra, you are the same.  You know this.  You have felt it._

_What does the Captain mean to you?_

He is _t’hy’la_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yay posted! There is a 90% chance that updates will slow a bit, now that I am back in school. I have the next chapter written already, but I'm gonna try to get ahead while my workload is still light so I can keep my postings consistent. You can subscribe/bookmark to stay tuned! Thank you so much for all your support and kind words!
> 
> aw tits I forgot translations ok here you go:  
> Kuwapo moyoni, halipo machoni - Something can be in the heart without being seen.  
> kupendana si kufanana rohoni. - Loving each other is not the same as being similar in spirit.  
> Ndugu - brother  
> Dakh pthak. Nam-tor ri ret na'fan-kitok fa tu dakh pthak. - Cast out fear. There is no room for anything else until you cast out fear. 
> 
> Sorry sorry sorry I updated at breakfast this morning and forgot these!!!! Forgive me!


	7. Dream of a Love (Jim)

“Hey, you okay?” I ask, glancing over at Spock as I replace my toothbrush on the counter.  He’s stopped in the middle of the room, halfway to the bed, and I can’t see the expression on his face. 

“Spock, what’s wrong?” I urge, turning the light off in the bathroom and walking over to him. 

His face is a perfect Vulcan expression of surprise – to anyone else, he would have looked the exact same as always, but I know his emotions well enough at this point.  His mouth is slightly open, and his eyes are blank, unseeing, slightly widened, and staring directly ahead.  He doesn’t move as I approach him. 

I’m not sure how to get through to him, so I take his hand, because that’s how he’s been able to get me to calm down before. 

“Spock!” I repeat, raising my voice slightly. 

He blinks, and his gaze focuses on me before flashing down to our joined hands. 

 _Fuck, skin-to-skin_ , _shit_

I pull my hand away, realizing what I’ve done. 

“Sorry, you weren’t responding, I thought it might help.” 

“Apology is not necessary,” he says, and his voice sounds breathless.  His eyes are dark, pupils blown wide, like he’s – _aroused_? 

My heartbeat pounds in my chest, and we stand there, seconds feeling like minutes, neither of us looking away. 

“I apologize for-”

“No, it’s okay,” I interrupt. 

He licks his lips.  They glisten, the Cupid’s bow inviting, welcoming.  My body aches for his hands.  I want to trace the tip of one of his ears, watch his skin flush green, bite into his flesh and mark him. 

I want to consume him. 

I can’t.  He doesn’t love me, not in that way.  He’s my _friend_.  The best First Officer in the fleet. 

_Would you like to accompany me to dinner?_

_Sure. Officer’s mess?_

_I was thinking of something more formal._

_You want to go out?_

_Affirmative._

Had he been… asking me out? 

_Hey, you went to see Uhura today, right?_

_How was that?_

_Enlightening._

Spock out of uniform, in the pair of jeans that accentuate his ass and my favorite t-shirt of his, the soft blue one that I wore that night, after –

_Love you._

_I want you to know why I couldn’t let you die… why I went back for you._

He is my friend.  He is my First Officer.  He is Vulcan.

_Let me help._

_You are safe, Jim.  You are safe now._

_If it would help, you are welcome to stay the night here, so you are not alone in an unfamiliar place._

_Because you are my friend._

I erase the two steps between us.  My face is centimeters from his, but he does not pull away. 

“Jim,” he whispers, and his eyes are imploring, terrified.

_Undugu wapita urafiki._

_For the record, I am_ not _into him.  I’m just – tactile._

 _It’s so_ fucking hard _, not touching him, remembering boundaries, and sometimes he looks at me, and I forget how to_ breathe _._

_You’re in love with him, kid._

I kiss him. 

Gently, with care, cautiously, as if he’s breakable.  It’s short, all too short, the feel of his hot lips on mine, because

He doesn’t kiss me back. 

I step away, horrified.  “Oh, my god,” I say, turning, and my face is burning red with embarrassment, but I can’t look at him, can’t be around him, can’t even _think_ about him because I fucked it up, I fucked everything up, fucked up the best thing that ever happened to me all because I couldn’t stand to _keep it in my pants_ and I need to apologize, need to say sorry but is it even gonna matter and I take a step towards the door when

Spock’s hands alight on my hips, long fingers holding me in place with Vulcan strength. 

“Jim,” he repeats, and his breath ghosts over my ear, my jaw.  I shiver despite its warmth.  “ _Nam-tor ri thrap wilat nem-tor rim.”_

He kisses my neck. 

Mouths at it, biting slightly at the skin, running his tongue over the indentations made by his teeth.  He is marking me, and I think I’m about to lose consciousness because all the blood that usually resides in my head has just gone someplace else entirely. 

He tugs gently at my earlobe before running his lips down my jaw, and my stubble rasps against his skin. 

“You _bastard_ ,” I hiss, turning around and catching his mouth with my own. 

Our lips move together like they were made to do so, and I reach my hand up to grasp the back of his neck, burying it in the short hairs there.  His hands are firm on my back, splayed wide and pressing me to him. 

I discover his tongue.  He yields to me, and I claim his mouth. 

He tastes exactly how he smells. 

He moves us back until my knees connect with the bed, and we are falling, but he is careful not to crush me.  I pull away as we settle back against the headboard, just to look at him – his hair is slightly mussed where I’ve run my fingers through it, his cheeks are greener than I’ve ever seen them, and he looks – _predatory_. 

Spock settles over me, bowing his head to bite at my neck, working his way down to my collarbone, where he pauses to suck a bruise into the skin.  My hips arch off the bed, and I will them back down.  I’m determined to go at his pace. 

His hand is resting by my head, and I grasp it, recalling how, in my dreams, he had stroked my fingers.  I take his wrist and guide his index finger – long and thin and green and _beautiful_ – into my mouth. 

The kisses that had been covering my hips and stomach suddenly cease, and Spock _moans_. 

I look down at him, amazed that he could make that sound, and to be sure, I suck on the tip of one finger, allowing my teeth to barely scrape the pad of his thumb. 

He gazes up at me, utterly debauched, and I can’t get enough of it. 

Slowly, carefully, I take his index and middle fingers and suck them into my mouth, swirling my tongue around the digits. 

Spock’s head drops and he lays his forehead on my sternum, breathing heavily.   I continue to suck as I maneuver his prone body so that I am straddling him, his head resting against the pillows.  He gazes up at me, an expression close to wonder on his face. 

“You like that, don’t you?” I whisper, removing my mouth from his fingers and moving my face close to his.  I continue to massage his hand, tugging at the small valleys in between his digits as I suck marks into his neck. 

“Af-affirmative,” he gasps, voice shaky with arousal. 

“And this?” I ask, moving my lips back to his hand and placing open-mouthed kisses on his palm, tracing the lines on his skin with my tongue and inhaling his scent.   

He shudders.

“Yes.” 

“And what about – this?” I say as I rub his palm with my thumbs, licking up his middle and index fingers and taking them once more into my mouth. 

“Jim!” he cries.  His body convulses beneath mine, and I realize he’s completely lost control of his limbs. 

It’s the hottest thing I’ve ever seen, and we’re both still wearing pants. 

“ _Ashayam_ ,” he pants, pulling his hand from my mouth and tugging me down into a kiss.  

_Ashayam._

“Fuck!” I pull away from Spock, scrambling to the other end of the bed.  “ _Fuck!_ ”

Spock is breathing hard, and he reaches out to me.  I move further away. 

“You’ve got to be _fucking kidding me_!”

“What is wrong?  Have I done something to cause you distress?” Spock looks hurt, but I don’t trust him, don’t trust those eyes that turn to me, full of so much emotion. 

“The one _good thing-_ ” I check my hands.  Ten fingers. 

It doesn’t mean anything. 

“Jim!  Will you please explain your actions?”

“Oh, come on, you _know_ ,” I scoff, getting off the bed and moving to his bookshelf. 

“Jim, you are awake.”

“Am I, _ashayam_?” I ask, mocking his words.  My words.  My mind’s words. 

I pull a book down at random – it doesn’t matter which one I pick, the results will be the same. 

_Fwaecisetoatloti._

I laugh, but the sound is hollow. 

“Jim, please.”  Spock’s voice is broken. 

“All right!” I shout to the room.  “All right, I get it!  I can’t have anything in this fucking world, is that it?!”

Spock stands and crosses the room, stopping in front of me. 

“Let me help, Jim.  How can I help?” 

“Oh, I don’t know, how about you _tell me how to wake up_?” I shout, throwing the book against the wall. 

“You are not asleep.” 

“Should’ve known you’d never kiss me.  Should have _fucking known_ you’d never love me.  How could you, Spock, hm?  How the fuck could you?  How could _anyone_?” 

_wake up wake up wake up WAKE UP_

“Uhura’s mind wasn’t good enough for yours, what the fuck would _mine_ be like, huh, Spock?”  I begin to pace. 

“Jim,” Spock says, and he tries to grab my arm, but I rip it from his fingers. 

“Is that it all you’ve got then?” I roar.  “Nothing else to cause me pain?  No?  Why don’t you just show me Pike’s death again, or fucking _Tarsus_ , or how about the fucking _radiation chamber_?  No, you give me _unrequited love_! Which, by the way, is _worse_!” 

“Jim!” Spock shouts.  I stop, surprised at the volume – it’s so uncommon for Spock to be yelling.  He grasps my shoulders, and then I’m trapped.  I can’t get away. 

“Why do you believe you are dreaming?” 

I struggle against his hold, but he is too strong. 

“I don’t know, Spock, maybe it was when you _asked me on a date_ , maybe it was that you _kissed me back_ , or maybe it was when you called me _ashayam_ , or _maybe_ , just _maybe_ , it’s that I can’t read the title of that fucking book!” 

“Jim.  You must breathe.” 

I don’t know why I’m listening to my dream-Spock, but I do as I’m told. 

Inhale. 

Exhale.

“Come.” 

He walks to where the book lies on the floor, never releasing my arm.  If I’m awake, I’ll have bruises there tomorrow.  But I’m not awake – I can’t be, because it’s not real. It’s all too good.  

He picks up the paperback and hands it to me.  I take it with my free arm. 

“Can you not read it?”

 _A Tale of Two Cities_. 

I drop the book, and it lands on the floor with a dull _thud_. 

“But – just a second ago-”

_But sometimes, halfway through my day, letters get scrambled in words.  One second I can read them, the next – nothing.  It’s like gibberish.  And then – bam – a few seconds later, the words are back in their proper places._

“You are awake,” Spock says, cradling my face in his hands.  I lean into the touch.  “I am real.” 

“You always call me that, though.  _Ashayam_.  In the nightmares – out in front of the radiation chamber, in sickbay, you’re always there.  You call me that, before you go all…wrong.” 

“It is a Vulcan endearment,” Spock whispers, and his thumbs trace my cheekbones.  I can feel the panic seeping out of me like poison from a wound.  “It means ‘beloved.’”

“Beloved,” I repeat, and my voice shakes. 

“Yes.  I spoke with my counterpart earlier today.  He believes that, to aid in your recovery, a constant will be beneficial.  He spoke of an anchor – something, or someone, who pulls you back when the dreams become too difficult to distinguish from reality.” 

“An anchor… something I can depend on when I can’t rely on myself.” 

“Affirmative.”  His fingers continue to move. 

“It’s you, Spock.  It’s always been you.”

“I know, _ashayam_ ,” he whispers.

“How am I supposed to tell the difference between – between real you and dream you?”

“It is my belief that your subconscious attempts to construct that which will torment you.  To this point, it was the love you held for me, which you believed to be unrequited; your dreams, therefore, produced a version of myself that satisfied your desires, but ultimately betrayed you.  It is my belief that, now that you are aware of the affection I hold for you, your subconscious will produce a version of me that is counter to reality.  A version of me that does not reciprocate your feelings.” 

“Oh.  That – that makes sense.” 

I feel dizzy, and I sway slightly.  Spock notices, and helps me back into bed, our previous activities forgotten. 

“Lights to 5%,” Spock calls out, and the room is thrown into near darkness.  We lie side by side. 

“When I died, Spock…”

“Jim, we do not need to discuss this now.  You are tired.” 

“No, I – I have to get this off my chest,” I protest.  “When I was in there, in the chamber, climbing to kick the warp core into place, I didn’t have much time to think.  It’s weird, though – it’s like, when you’re about to die, your brain kind of goes into hyperdrive, and suddenly you can’t stop thinking about things.  About how I didn’t know what to do when it mattered most.”

_What I am about to do, it doesn't make sense, it's not logical, it is a gut feeling! I have no idea what I'm supposed to do. I only know what I can do. The Enterprise and her crew needs someone on that chair who knows what he's doing. That's not me. It's you, Spock._

“I remember leaving you in charge of the ship.  I remember thinking that you’d have evacuated the crew, and knowing that they were safe.  I remember worrying about Earth, but you know, Spock, most of all I remember thinking about you, strapped into the Captain’s chair, going down the same way as my fucking father.”

 _My muscles are weakening and searing like someone is turning me slowly over a fire that’s lapping hungrily at my exposed skin.  I can’t make it, can’t possibly reach it but the ship is lurching and up there somewhere I left Spock in charge which means he’s evacuated everyone and they are safe but_ I can’t let Spock die

“I remember thinking that I had to save you.”

_I grab hold of the fixture and haul myself up.  My feet slam into the warp core again, again, again, and just when I think my force won’t be strong enough, that our ship will go down in a blaze of fire and that Spock will go down with it_

I tangle my fingers with his.

“I remember the stupid drive I had to see you one last time.  I wanted your face to be the last one my face saw.  And I remember thinking that I wouldn’t make it – that you were dead, that if you weren’t, you wouldn’t reach the chamber in time.”

 _The warp core snaps back into place, and I am falling, falling, and I need to see him,_ one last time

“And as I crawled back out of that hellhole, feeling like my skin was peeling off and catching on the walls and bolts of our ship, I remember thinking about you.  I had so much I wanted to say, and I knew I wouldn’t have the time.  So fucking much I wanted to tell you.  All the little things, Spock.  Dying, I couldn’t think about the big picture.  There were just – details, I guess.”

I turn on my side so that I am looking at him.  He mirrors my actions. 

“The way you sit on the bridge – your fucking perfect posture, and how sometimes you’ll turn and look at me, only to catch me staring at you.  How you raised your eyebrow whenever you caught me doing that – I sometimes wondered if you knew.”

_Relief at the fact that we are safe, we had ejected the warp core but the blast had pushed us out of the wormhole, and Spock looks at me, and his eyes betray respect_

I trace the straight line of his eyebrow with my free hand. 

“The way you walk – ramrod stiff and with the gait of a robot, and how it’s the most graceful thing I’ve ever seen.  How you’ll just keep walking, with perfect mathematical efficiency, even as I “accidentally” bump into you, just to feel your heat against my body.”

_Spock, I’m telling you, this is why he called, I can feel it._

_Your feelings aside, I consider it highly unlikely that we will be selected for the new program._

_Why else would Pike want to see us? Forget about seniority, they gave us the newest ship in the fleet.  Who else are they gonna send out?_

_I can think of numerous possibilities._

_A five-year mission, Spock!  That’s deep space, that’s uncharted territories! Think how incredible that’s gonna be._  

My fingers trail over his temples. 

“Your hair, and how that stupid bowl cut you have shouldn’t be attractive in any way, but on you, there’s no other haircut that I like more.  The straight line of your bangs and how they move when you’re running or fighting, like on an away mission.”

_Negative, this is our only chance to save this species. If this volcano erupts, the planet dies._

I run my hand through his hair; it falls perfectly back into place.

“Your ears, and how I would have loved to feel them under my fingers.”

I trace the shell of one, and he shivers as I reach the tip. 

“Your hands, and how I would have loved to take yours in mine as we walked through a market on shore leave, on some planet we didn’t know a fucking thing about.  We’d have a map, but we’d get lost for hours, just to run away from responsibility and have time to ourselves – not Captain and First Officer, just Jim and Spock.”

I move my fingers against his, and he flushes.

“The way you blush green, and how fucking gorgeous you are when you’ve been sparring with me.”

_Come on, Spock, show me what you’ve got._

I grin at the way his skin darkens with my touch.

“Your smile – the way your lips turn up, just slightly, when I’ve said something really dumb, or when you beat me in chess, or when Chekov does something stupid adorable, like say that tricorders were invented in Russia.”

_Permission to come aboard, Captain._

_Permission granted._

_As you have yet to select a first officer, respectfully, I would like to submit my candidacy. Should you desire, I can provide character references._

_It would be my honor, Commander._

I map the curve of his lower lip.

“But the last thing I thought about – the last thing was your eyes.  Their color, their shape, and the way they shine in the sunlight.  How your body language is so Vulcan, but your eyes always show your human half.  How that isn’t a bad thing.”

 _His eyes, dark and intense and full of sadness and rage and despair as he throttles me over the console and I can’t bother to fight back because he does_ feel

My thumb rubs at the shadows under his eyes.

“When I died, they were all I focused on.  And I watched as you shed _tears_ over me, and I thought – well, now’s my chance.  I’ll never walk down the hallways of the _Enterprise_ with him again, I’ll never see the way he turns at his station to look at me, I’ll never see how his eyes shine when he discovers something new on an alien world, I’ll never touch those ears, or hold those hands, or watch him smile.  I’ll never see those eyes again.”

 _I need you to know why I couldn’t let you die… why I went back for you_.

I let my hand fall onto the sheets.

“So I was gonna tell you.  I was gonna tell you everything.  I was going to tell you, with my last breath, that I broke the Prime Directive to rescue you simply because I can’t breathe when I think about being without you.  That your life is as much my responsibility as is my own.”

 _Because you are my friend_.

“I ran out of time.” 

He draws me in for a kiss, long and slow and deep, like we have all the time in the world.  I guess, in a way, we do. 

“Jim,” Spock says, pulling away.  He strokes his index and middle fingers against my own.  I close my eyes at the intimacy of the gesture.  “ _T’hy’la_.  I am sorry.  I did not understand.”

I curl into his chest, and he wraps his arms around me as I bury my face in his neck.  He kisses my hair. 

“That’s the other one,” I say. 

“What is?”

“ _T’hy’la_.  I asked Uhura what it meant, ages ago.  She wouldn’t tell me.” 

Spock’s fingers scatter kisses up and down my back. 

“It is untranslatable.” 

“Give it your best shot,” I murmur into his skin, pressing open kisses to his collarbone. 

“It has several meanings.”

“Hm?”

“The first of those is ‘friend.’”

_I want you to know why I couldn’t let you die… why I went back for you._

_Because you are my friend._

“What’s the second?”

“Brother.  To ancient Vulcans, it often meant brother-in-arms.”

_It means “brotherhood is greater than friendship.” You and Spock have something he and I never had._

_Why are we talking about this?  So Spock and I are like brothers, so what?_

I nuzzle the hollow of his throat with my nose.  He shivers. 

“Brother-in-arms?” I ask.

“Before Surak, Vulcans were a warrior race.  There were factions – clans – and wars would rage for decades, interrupted only by brief truces due to lack of resources.  The loss of life was tragic and unceasing.”

His fingers wander to my side.

“There is a myth about the _t’hy’la_ bond – presumably because the link itself is rare and not well understood.  It is said that two clans fought for years over a disputed territory in a mountain range.  It was a strategic location in their war, and both groups were determined to win the land.  When they met in battle, they attempted to destroy each other.  Legend claims that the rocks were stained green with the blood of the fallen.

“The leaders of these clans, desperate for a victor to be chosen, met by agreement on a flat outcropping on the mountainside – the appointed place.  They agreed to fight, not with weapons, but with their hands, in ancient tradition.  It is said that when their skin made contact, they would not combat one another.  Their minds were kin.  This was the first _t’hy’la_ bond.” 

“Bit different from our first meeting,” I murmur against his neck. 

“Negative.”

“You almost killed me.”

“I could never have irreparably harmed you.  Even then, as enemies, my mind recognized yours.  After, I was too devastated by _Va’Pak_ to acknowledge the connection.”

“I’ll take your word for it,” I tease.  “You didn’t tell me the third definition.  What is it?”

“Lover,” he whispers. 

I pull back slightly to look at him.  He is smiling. 

“ _T’hy’la_ ,” I say, kissing him softly on the lips. 

“I like that.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm gonna try to keep up with the schedule, but I also have an essay to write this weekend (already!) and other reading to do.... I'll try to find time though! Shouldn't be more than a few days, and if it is, I'll be sure to post that here and on my blog. Thank you so much! 
> 
> Hope you enjoyed the resolved sexual tension... but the real question is, will Jim's deeper relationship with Spock be enough to hold the demons at bay?
> 
> Translations (fuck I forgot these again I am SO SORRY):  
> Nam-tor ri thrap wilat nem-tor rim. - There is no offense where none is taken.


	8. Countenances of the Dead (Spock)

“Morning, sunshine!” Jim yells, opening the blinds in our bedroom. 

I emerge from meditation, and I glare at him as he bounces anxiously on the balls of his feet.  He is not wearing a shirt, and I openly admire the soft curves of his muscles.  He has been regaining the weight he lost during recovery, slowly building muscle mass once again during gym sessions spent under my careful supervision.  Jim has a tendency to strain himself physically after an ordeal, and Leonard had mandated my presence at the Captain’s training sessions.  For the first time in four months, he looks relatively healthy.

“C’mon, I made you breakfast,” he says, taking hold of my hand and attempting to pull me to my feet.  Reluctantly, I allow him to help me. 

“Is there an occasion?” I ask, following him into the kitchen. 

“Really, Spock?” he teases, grinning widely.  “It’s our one-month, don’t pretend like you don’t remember.” 

“I had, in fact, quite forgotten.”

Jim is unfazed.  “It’s gonna get cold if you don’t eat it soon, I spent all fucking morning working on this.  Took me a week just to get the ingredients – this dish is a _bitch_.” 

“I am unaware of how it may resemble a female-”

I stop upon seeing the meal he has prepared.

On the table lies a bowl of plomeek soup.  My heart throbs painfully in my side as I recall how my mother used to make the same dish.  It is, illogically, my favorite. 

I glance up at Jim, and he is smiling – he knows what the meal means, and what memories are associated with it. 

“Thank you, _ashayam_.” 

“Don’t thank me yet, you haven’t even tasted it,” he says, settling in to his own portion. 

Jim is an exceptional cook; I have learned as much over the brief course of our courtship.  He insists on making dinner nearly every night, particularly if I am working late in the labs. 

The day following our first kiss, I returned to my apartment after the conclusion of classes to find Jim at my stove, sautéing vegetables.  He was dressed only in boxer briefs and an apron, and he turned to me shyly as I walked through the door.  I found it illogically difficult to look anywhere but at the curve of his backside.

“I was not aware you would be cooking,” I said, hanging my coat on the peg next to the door and crossing the space to touch my fingers to his in the _ozh’esta_ of my people. 

“Spock, we aren’t gonna have access to fresh ingredients forever,” he replied as he added zucchini to the skillet.  “Might as well cook while we can, before going back to replicator food.  Well,” he paused, “granted I can pass the psychological eval.”  His tone was joking, but his words were filled with uncertainty, and I could feel fear through his touch. 

“You will pass,” I whispered, kissing his temple.  “Did you have an episode today?” 

Darkness flared within him. 

“Might’ve.” 

“Jim,” I pressed, turning his head towards me.  His eyes were anxious.  “What happened?”

He shrugged.  “It was like – sleepwalking, or something, I guess.  I didn’t see anything, but – one second, I was packing my stuff up in my classroom, and the next, I was back here.” 

“You remember nothing?”

He shook his head.  “It wasn’t like it was a huge chunk of time, but it’s just – gone.  I don’t know how else to explain it.” 

“Jim-” 

He interrupts me.  “Not a big deal, Spock.  It was, like, fifteen minutes.  Nothing to worry about.  These vegetables, however,” he said, sliding the completed meal onto a plate, “aren’t gonna eat themselves.” 

He had not allowed another word of discussion on the matter, and I had not pressed him.

Jim had continued to cook for me, expanding his repertoire to include several Vulcan meals, despite the cost of obtaining the ingredients.  He has never made plomeek soup. 

I taste it, and nod appreciatively.  “It is quite good.” 

He glances up at me, brow furrowed.  “Just ‘quite good’?”

“It is delicious, Jim,” I amend.  He smiles.  “I was, however, under the impression that anniversaries were only celebrated for larger landmarks.”

“For most people, they are,” Jim says.  “I guess I just got excited.  I know Uhura told you all about my promiscuity at the Academy, but the thing is, I was never in a relationship.  Well, a real one, where you commit and stuff.  So for most people, one month probably doesn’t seem like a big deal.  But this is the longest I’ve ever been with someone, and I wanted to do something to recognize that.”

“Your logic is sound.” 

“That’s high praise, coming from you,” Jim laughs.  “I know you’re probably not big into sentiment, but – you don’t mind, right?” 

“Negative.  It is important to you, and is therefore important to me.” 

His smile softens.  “Thanks, Spock.”

“It is nothing.”   

“Okay, I checked, and you don’t have anything on your schedule for the day after your 1000 class, so I figured we’d go down to Golden Gate Park, have a picnic or something.” 

“Jim,” I begin. 

“It’s not the same, Spock, come on.” 

I sigh.  We had decided at the beginning of our relationship that we would keep it secret, so as to avoid the scrutiny of Command.  As a result, most of our time together is spent at the apartment, or performing activities that were already customary in which for us to engage. 

“I am unsure if this qualifies.  It is my understanding that Terrans attach certain romantic implications to the practice of having a picnic.” 

“Who told you that?”

“Nyota once wished to engage in similar activities.” 

Jim laughs.  “Lucky for you I know a good spot, then.” 

I frown.  “I am still-”

“Nope!” he says, interrupting me.  “We are _going_.  And you need to head out, don’t you have office hours this morning?”

“Indeed.” 

“Am I allowed to walk you there?”

“Affirmative.”

“Shower?” 

“Sonic.”

“Water, come _on_!”

I cannot refuse him anything. 

“You are dangerous,” I say as I wash my empty bowl. 

“And don’t you love it,” Jim teases, wrapping one arm around my waist and kissing my temple.  I feel affection flood through the contact, and it makes my skin tingle.  My hand slips on the bowl, and it falls into the sink with a clatter.  Jim turns off the water.

“Leave it, I’ll get it later.” 

He takes my hand and leads me into the bathroom, starting the water before kissing me the human way, slowly and intimately.  He tastes like coffee, and I feel his fingers tugging at the hem of my shirt. 

I oblige, breaking the kiss and lifting my arms so that he may remove my shirt.  He finds my lips again, and his fingers trace over my levator scapulae before skimming to map my pectorals, then moving lower to my external abdominal obliques. 

His hand hooks in the waistband of my sleep pants, and he gently slides them down until they fall, pooled around my ankles.  I mimic his action, and we are naked, bodies touching in ways that send electric flares of desire through my system.  Jim backs us into the shower, and we are engulfed in warmth. 

His lips move to my neck and he begins to suck bruises into my skin at strategically placed locations where they will not be visible.  His thumbs press into the hollows below my hipbones, and I wonder, not for the first time, at his restraint. 

Jim is an extraordinarily sexual Terran, and presumably considers intercourse a critical part of a relationship.  He insists, however, on “taking things slow” between us, for reasons I cannot fully comprehend.  I am not opposed to the idea of sexual intercourse with Jim, although I acknowledge I will most likely be unable to achieve climax without a mental connection as well.  Jim does not seem thrilled with the idea of a meld, due to of the fragile nature of his mind. 

We were in bed together, one week after we had first kissed, when I inquired as to why Jim had not pursued intercourse.   

“Spock, I can’t do that, right now.  I know – I know it’s important, but – maybe we could just, you know, take things slow, until my head is right again.  I don’t want you seeing my nightmares.” 

“We do not have to meld.” 

He had sighed, and smiled at me.  “Spock, I always put my partner’s satisfaction before my own.  Sex won’t be fun at all if you aren’t getting off.  I’d rather save it for when I’m, you know…” 

I had felt his anxiety through his touch. 

“Do you believe I do not wish to share your mind?”

He had laughed.  “I’m sure you _think_ you do.”

“You believe I will be repulsed.” 

“I mean, maybe,” Jim had hedged, tonguing the curve of my laryngeal prominence.  “You couldn’t meld with Uhura, and she’s a hell of a lot more similar to you than I am.” 

“Jim,” I said, grasping his shoulders and flipping him so that he was underneath me on the bed.  His pupils were blown wide with desire.  “You are _t’hy’la_.  Reason to chaos, darkness to light, my complement.  I could never find your mind repulsive.” 

“Still,” he breathed.  “Not yet.  Just – not until he – they – not until the nightmares go away.” 

I had not persisted, for I am willing to give Jim the time he needs.  I have waited more than a year to share his mind, and I can wait longer if he requires it of me. 

“What are you thinking about?” Jim murmurs as he grabs the soap and begins to wash my body.

“You,” I say, tracing the alien curve of his ear. 

“Yeah?” he replies, hands wandering leisurely down my abdominals. 

“Yes.” 

“What about me?”

“How unlikely it is that we should have met in the fashion that we did.  That I accepted a position aboard your ship.  That you, the entire time, were _t’hy’la_ , although I was too blind to recognize it.” 

He grins.  “Pretty lucky, I guess.”

“You almost make me believe in luck.” 

“Mm,” he moans, closing his eyes as my fingers massage shampoo into his scalp.  “You almost make me believe in miracles.” 

 _There are no such things_. 

***

“Jim, this is most illogical.” 

“Hey, you wanted a private place, right?  I told you, I have one.” 

“I believe you are lost.” 

Jim climbs over a fallen tree, careful not to damage the backpack that contains our lunch.  The weather is fair, and the sun filters through the trees onto the forest floor.  We have been walking for 23.6 minutes, and Jim has been insisting for the past 12.24 that the picnic site is “Just a little farther, Spock.”  I am beginning to doubt he ever had a place in mind. 

Ahead of me, Jim lets out a triumphant call.  “Told you I had a spot!”

It is a small clearing, ringed by trees, dotted intermittently with wildflowers.  Jim is placing a blanket on the grass, despite that the day is warm and the clearing is without moisture.  I take stock of our surroundings and spot the path a mere twenty feet away. 

“Jim, are you aware that, if we had simply taken the path – as I initially suggested – we would have arrived more efficiently?” 

He glances at me, then at the path, and bursts out laughing.  “Okay, yeah, I was totally lost.  But, you gotta admit, this was way more fun.”

I lift an eyebrow to convey my skepticism.

“Do you forgive me?” 

He is sprawled on the blanket, gold hair ruffling in the breeze, clad in dark jeans and a sweater.  He gives me his best “puppy eyes” gaze, and my will crumbles.

“Of course, Jim.” 

“Good, then let’s eat,” he says, opening a container of strawberries. 

I settle on the blanket next to him, listening intently for the sound of passerby. 

“How was class today?” Jim asks as he slices cheese.  A lock of his hair falls out of place, onto his forehead, at a particularly strong gust of wind.

“Acceptable,” I say, brushing his hair back into its previous location.  He smiles at me.

“Anything exciting happen?” he presses. 

“Nyota stopped by my office hours.” 

It was an uncommon occurrence.  Nyota has been preoccupied with her teaching position at the Academy, and I have not spoken to her in a conversation lasting longer than ten minutes since Jim and I began our relationship.  In addition, Jim has determined not to discuss our courtship with Leonard until he is back from Georgia.  I do not like keeping secrets from Nyota, but she will invariably tell Mr. Scott, who has a propensity for divulging information while intoxicated.  I will inform Nyota of our relationship when Leonard returns.

“Oh, yeah?” 

“Affirmative.” 

“What’d she want to talk about?”

“She had a query concerning Klingon mating rituals.” 

Jim laughs and makes a face.  “All right then.  Are they interesting, or…?”

“They begin with each participant smelling the other’s right arm, or hand.  They then grip each other’s right hands so as to cause bleeding.  As I am certain you can infer, they are extraordinarily combative during their foreplay and mating.   It is not uncommon for Klingons to break bone; in fact, a broken clavicle on the night of consummation is seen as a blessing.”

Jim laughs heartily.  “Do Vulcans have any super kinky mating rituals?”

“We do not discuss them.” 

“Aw, come on, not even a hint?”

“Negative.  When the time is appropriate, I shall disclose them to you.”

“Fair, I guess,” Jim says.  “Here.” 

He feeds me a strawberry, and chases the action with a kiss. 

“God, you’re hot,” he says, tracing my lower lip with his thumb.  His voice is low and gravelly, and it sends chills through my skin.

I grasp the back of his neck and kiss him again, this time entangling my fingers with his.  He bites down on my lip, and my katra burns.  I tug him closer, desperate to minimize the space between our bodies, and I am again overwhelmed by a desire to share his mind.  His desire becomes my own through our contact, and everything is amplified through the feedback loop of our emotions.

He moves with my touch, and then he is straddling me, hips grinding against my own.  He has never done this before, but I find I am unwilling to stop him.  The need emanating from his skin becomes reckless as it grows, and he growls when I tug slightly at his lower lip with my teeth.  I pull him with me until I am laying down, and he settles over me, lips moving to my jaw as his hand traces the shell of my ear.  I shiver.  

Jim ceases his exploration of my neck and lifts his head.  His eyes are dark, filled with lust and somehow alien to me.  His hands wander, traveling lower until one comes to rest on my waistband.  I find I cannot breathe. 

His eyes are predatory, wild, foreign, as he moves his hand to my crotch.

“Jim?” 

He blinks once, and his eyes clear.  He removes his hand so quickly I miss the motion, and scrambles back from me in confusion.  I miss his weight on my body. 

“What the fuck?” he asks, blinking rapidly, chest heaving with short, panicked breaths.  “How did I – what was I-”

“What is wrong?” I reach out and take his hand, projecting calm through my touch. 

“Can you – can you hold up your hands for me?” he asks breathlessly, and fear streams through our contact, thick and black as pitch. 

I release my grip reluctantly and show Jim my hands.  I watch as he counts the fingers – ten. 

“Hold on, I-” he opens the backpack and pulls out the battered copy of _Oliver Twist._   His eyes scan the pages quickly, and he sets the book down as if burned. 

“I’m awake?”

“Affirmative.”

“I – I had just given you a strawberry.  How did we – why were we on the ground?  I don’t – I don’t remember – I don’t _remember-_ ”

“Jim, _ka’i_.  You are safe, and you are awake.” 

“I – I _touched_ you, though, I can’t believe, oh my god – why the fuck can’t I remember?”

“You do not recall kissing me.” 

“No, I – no, I don’t, Spock, I don’t-”

He is hyperventilating now, and I gather him in my arms. 

“Jim, _ashayam_ , I am here,” I whisper into his ear as he shudders in my embrace. 

“Spock, I’m so sorry, oh my god-”

Tears drip down onto my neck. 

_“Spock,” he breathes, and he sounds relieved.  Before I am aware of his actions, his arms are around me and he is hugging me, one side of his face pressed against my neck.  I feel tears on my skin, and suspect that the physical contact is a result of his embarrassment at his reaction to seeing the site of his death._

“Was I – what did I do, did I-”

“You did nothing for which you should apologize,” I say, reaching under his shirt to place my hands on the skin of his back.  I send kisses through the touch, and he relaxes into my chest. 

_You are his anchor, the constant to which he returns in times of disorder._

“How long-”

“Only a few minutes.  You remained quite… active.” 

“What, no exact amount of time?” he huffs into my shirt collar. 

“I was under the impression that you may benefit from a less scientific analysis of the incident.” 

“I like numbers.” 

_This is not a recent development, but rather the basis of your friendship – reason to chaos, logic to emotion, dark to light.  You are Jim’s opposite, and yet at your katra, you are the same._

“Three minutes and forty six seconds.” 

“Not so bad,” he says, pulling away from me.  

“As compared to?”

“The last time.”

It is clear he does not wish to discuss it, and I let the issue go.  I will pursue it later, when he is more stable.  Instead, I reach around him and retrieve the container of strawberries. 

“Here,” I say, and he opens his mouth, smiling weakly, and accepts the fruit.  His lips brush my fingers, and lust races through me once again.  I repress the emotion; I am determined to allow Jim his space.

“Do you know what this place is called?” Jim says, shifting his position so that he is laying on the blanket, his head resting in my lap. 

“Negative.”

“Heroes grove.  Dedicated to the soldiers from San Francisco that fought and died in World Wars I and II.  So many people.  Dead.  The war to end all wars, that’s what they called the first one.  They never thought we’d see anything like it again.  So many fallen in the trenches, in the mud and the mire and the cold.  So many lives wasted.  The war to end all wars – they were wrong.  Two decades later, and people were dying again – this time, not just soldiers, but civilians. 

“Heroes grove! Planting trees for their sacrifice so that, centuries later, we can think about the errors of our past.  We can say “never again” all we want, but we create super men, eugenics wars, and even two hundred years later we’re still paying for their mistakes. 

“Do you think they’ll memorialize all the people who died at the Academy?  All the ‘Fleet members who died, giving their lives, as soldiers, during the process?  Almost a whole race gets wiped from the sky, and all they do is create a Federation-wide day of mourning. 

“When I joined Starfleet, I thought I was doing it to become an explorer – finding new reaches of space, seeking out new life and new civilizations.  I thought I was joining the humanitarian and peace-keeping armada Pike wouldn’t shut up about.   

“I never thought I’d become a soldier.”

He closes his eyes as I card my fingers through his hair. 

“The sentiment may be dark, but their katras live on here, in these trees.  They served their country, Jim, and they were immortalized.”

He looks at me, and his eyes betray a deep sadness.  “I don’t want to be immortal.” 

“I do not believe we have much of a choice.” 

“Do you think they’ll plant trees for us?”

“If they do, I shall ensure that mine is planted by your side.”

“Well,” Jim says with a small smile, “just make sure they don’t pick bad ones.  I’d hate to be, like, a spruce for forever.” 

“I am certain they will be beautiful.” 

“Beautiful, huh?” 

“I was merely attempting to use your vernacular to convey an idea.” 

He grins, shutting his eyes again as I continue to run my fingers over his scalp.  “Come on, don’t you believe in beauty?” 

“Vulcans appreciate symmetry, mathematical precision, logic.  We do not find things beautiful.”

“Nothing?  At all?” 

“No.” 

He opens his eyes, which are an impossible cyan. 

“Must be a pretty dark universe for Vulcans.”

“I would not know, for I am half-human.”

Jim’s smile softens. 

“I’m so glad you brought me up on academic dishonesty charges.” 

I frown.  “I do not understand.” 

“I wouldn’t expect you to,” he says, reaching for my hand.  I give it freely. 

“If you hadn’t, I wouldn’t have been grounded.  I would’ve been assigned to some ship with the rest of them, and it wouldn’t have been the _Enterprise_.  I never would have met you, and we both would’ve died in the ambush.” 

“I see.”  I pause, uncertain of how to respond.  “You are welcome.” 

“You should smile more often, it’s a good look on you,” Jim says, reaching up with his free hand to trace the subtle curve of my mouth. 

“I shall do my best.” 

He lets his hand fall.  “Chekov’s coming home soon.”

“Indeed?”

“Yeah.  I was thinking, you know, about maybe getting together with the rest of them.  And Sulu will be back from his lecture series… could be fun.  I don’t know.  We haven’t been together in so long.” 

“I believe it is a good idea.” 

We sit in silence as the sun drops lower in the sky. 

“I’m nervous about the psych eval, Spock.” 

“You will pass.” 

“I’m not so sure I should.” 

I do not know what to say, because I agree with his assessment.  “The _Enterprise_ needs her Captain, Jim.” 

“ _La kuvunda halina rubani_.”  He stumbles over the pronunciation, but it is a passable attempt.  “You could be her Captain, Spock.” 

“I would find no pleasure in exploring the universe were I not by your side.  In addition, I would make a poor replacement.” 

“Are you kidding?  You’re an awesome Captain.” 

“I have never desired command, Jim.”

“Well, you might have to take it, if I don’t…”

“ _Kroykah_.  We will work through it together, _ashayam_.  I believe you should discuss the episodes with Leonard when he returns.” 

Jim mumbles something that sounds very much like, “Don’t wanna bother him.” 

“You will not.  He loves you, Jim.”

“I know.” 

“Then you will talk to him?”

“Yeah.  When he gets back.  Oh my god,” Jim adds, laughing.  “Oh my _god_.”

I raise one eyebrow, and he grins up at me. 

“I’m just so excited to see his face when I tell him about us.  I mean, he knows I’ve had feelings for you for _forever_ , but he never thought you’d reciprocate.  He’s gonna _flip_.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Translations:  
> Ozh'esta - Finger kiss between bondmates and/or t'hy'la.  
> Ka'i - I'm right here.  
> La kuvunda halina rubani. - A vessel running aground has no Captain. 
> 
>  
> 
> Oh my god I did it I got it up look at me! For those of you worried about sex happening, do not be <33 Worry about Jim - that is a much better choice. Thank you all for reading!


	9. What We Are (Jim)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm not really sure what to write here, but I was told a trigger warning might be helpful for this chapter. Be aware that it really tries to blend reality with nightmares (particularly a scene on Tarsus IV), and Jim's having a tough time separating the two. Read with caution if you think this might affect you!

“ _What?!_ ”

“Yeah.” 

“And you didn’t think to _tell me_?  Dammit Jim, I am your _best friend_!”

“Yeah, I know, I just didn’t want to disturb you or anything.  You were spending time with Jo!”

Bones’ face is bypassing red and turning a weird sort of plum.  I rack my brain for ways to placate him. 

“Look, it’s only been since you were gone!  Like, a month… month and a half…”

“You are _unbelievable_!” Bones yells.  He begins to pace, footsteps echoing in the empty space of my living room.  The furniture and walls are bare, and there is a thin layer of dust on every exposed surface.  It even smells sterile.  “Two months! Two _goddamn_ months!” 

“A month and a half!  Hey, we haven’t told anyone, okay?  You’re the first to know!”

Bones stops and looks at me.  “Didn’t Spock tell Uhura?”

“No, she’s been really busy, and she was on a lecture series the past couple weeks, actually.  But Chekov got back into town last week, and Sulu’s gonna be flying in on Thursday, I think.  Spock and I were thinking about throwing a dinner party, you know, to get back together after all this time.” 

“Now you two are throwing _dinner parties_?  No, this is too much,” he says, throwing his hands up in exasperation.  “I never thought I’d see the day when Jim Kirk would go… _domestic_.” He says the word like it’s a curse.

“Hey, I made you food all the time when we were roommates!”

“It’s different!  We weren’t having sex!” 

“Yeah, fair point.” 

Bones huffs and sits down heavily on my sofa.  It creaks from lack of use.  “Fine, just give me the time and I’ll be there.” 

I smile and take the armchair.  “Thanks.  How was Georgia?” 

“Good.  Jo’s gettin’ really big, though.  Amazing, how time seems to pass by so fast when you’re up in space.  I’m missing her life all ‘cause of some stupid custody papers, and there’s nothing I can do about it.”  He takes a deep breath.  “I miss her already.” 

“You know…” I hesitate, aware of what the words will cost me to say.  “When we get our next mission... even if I’m still Captain, you don’t have to come.  You can stay here, take a job with the Fleet, onworld.  You don’t-”

“What do you mean, “if I’m still Captain?”” Bones interrupts.  The vein in his forehead is jumping, and I realize I’ve fucked up. 

“I mean… Of course I’m gonna be Captain,” I amend, but Bones has that look on his face, the one that says he wants to run me through a hundred different tests and about eighty hypos to figure out the problem. 

“What’re you not telling me, Jim?” 

“Really, Bones, it’s nothing.”

“If you don’t tell me what’s wrong, I’m just gonna go find Spock, and I know he’s gonna tell me.  Are you still having nightmares?”

“Some,” I hedge.  I don’t want to tell him that sometimes it’s impossible to tell if I’m awake when Spock isn’t nearby, that I live in constant fear of one of my sleepwalking episodes – of blacking out, of losing time. 

The vein in his forehead pulses again, and guilt washes over me in waves.

“Kid, you gotta let me help.”

_Let me help._

“Fine.  Every now and then, I sleepwalk.” 

Bones’ eyebrows pull together and he frowns. 

“Sleepwalk?”

“Yeah, it’s more like-”

_No._

A voice inside my head, dark and honeyed and it’s mine but it sounds like _him_ , it sounds like Khan, like Nero, like rotting burning flesh and skin peeling and blistering people dying _pain_

Bones is gone. 

I check my chronometer – it’s 1600.  I’ve lost thirty minutes. 

“Fuck, fuck, _fuck_!”

Spock’s home he has to be home need to see Spock am I awake how the fuck do I tell again dreams from reality reason to chaos dark to light

Check fingers – ten.  Good. 

What did I say to Bones?  Why did I black out? 

_Whose voice was that?_

I comm him. 

“Haven’t you had enough of me for one day?” 

“Never,” I respond, doing my best to disguise the unrelenting panic coursing through my bloodstream, a wildfire searing my veins. 

“What d’you want, kid?”

“Just – um, I was wondering what I should tell Spock.  You know, about everything.” 

“Just what we talked about.  Your brain scans are normal, but you’re exhibiting some of the symptoms of narcolepsy – daytime sleepiness, sleep attacks, hallucinations, and sleep paralysis.  Try to keep a regular sleep schedule, don’t drink alcohol or caffeine before bed, and make sure you’re comfortable when you sleep. Since you’re opposed to medication, that’s about all we can do.”

“Right.  Narcolepsy.  Thanks, Bones.” 

“Yeah, yeah.” 

He ends the call. 

I realize I’m shaking.  The communicator falls from my hand and lands with a dull thud on the bare floor of my apartment, and I need to see Spock _now_. 

I key in the code to his apartment to find him seated on the sofa, grading papers.  He looks up, unsurprised at my appearance, and freezes. 

“Jim, what is wrong?” he asks, rising quickly and crossing the small space to stand before me. 

“I – I think-” I stutter, and against my will, my body begins to shudder.  My vision is vibrating, and there’s a weird ringing in my ears; Spock is speaking, but I can’t hear him.

His hands grasp my shoulders and he guides me to the couch, sitting down and pulling me into his side.  The heat of his body is comforting, and I try to breathe deeply because I think I’m hyperventilating.  I feel the low hum of his voice roll through my skin, and I cling to the reality of Spock, fingers tight on the gray fabric of his uniform.

_Citizen, what is your name?_

_Who am I, Captain Pike?_

_My name is James Tiberius Kirk!_

_You are James Tiberius Kirk, and you are my friend._

_An anchor._

_It’s you, Spock.  It’s always been you._

His tunic under my fingers, steel-gray and smooth like silk as he whispers words of comfort into deaf ears, unconcerned with the mechanics, focused on the effect.

My sight stabilizes, and I find Spock’s eyes, concentrating singularly on their color – melted chocolate in his pale green face.  I feel a rush of affection for him, and my heart throbs in my chest – I am alone in my head, and Spock is here with me. 

_Whose voice was that?_

“Ashayam,” Spock whispers, fingers skimming over my cheekbones, my temples, my neck and back.  He pushes calm through the touch.  “Tell me what is wrong.” 

“I was talking to Bones,” I gasp, burying my face in his neck once again.  “I was about to bring up what’s been going on – the blackouts and everything.  And just when we got on the topic, it was like, I blinked, and he was gone.  I lost a half hour.” 

Spock’s muscles tense almost imperceptibly, and his fingers dig into my back just a bit harder.  They’re going to form bruises, but I don’t care. 

“Was Leonard not able to revive you?  Why did he not call for me?”

“Well, that’s the thing – we had an entire conversation.  I commed him when I woke up, and he said we talked about fucking narcolepsy, for Christ’s sake.  I don’t know a fucking _thing_ about narcolepsy.  I just – I thought that – how can I be asleep and still be having conversations with people?”

“I do not know.”

I pull away from him, just far enough so that I can see his eyes again – they are full of concern, and he reaches up to cup my cheek in his hand.  His fingers brush my psi points, and both my body and mind react to the contact. 

_Whose voice was that?_

I cannot let him touch my mind. 

“Thanks for being here, Spock,” I say weakly, kissing him gently the human way. He responds, lips moving chastely against my own – they are warm, soft, and he disengages but does not pull away.  We simply sit there, sharing breaths, each unwilling to move any further. 

“I will always be here for you, _ashayam_.”  His breath ghosts over my skin, sends heat racing through my veins.

_Not when he finds out who you are._

I startle – it’s the voice, the same one, sweet and dead and it’s

_The revolution is successful. But survival depends on drastic measures. Your continued existence represents a threat to the well-being of society. Your lives mean slow death to the more valued members of the colony. Therefore, I have no alternative but to sentence you to death._

_Is there anything you would not do for your family, Kirk?_

_the screams of the civilians killed by the_ Vengeance _and it’s the silence after the destruction of Vulcan and it’s the cries of the ones I couldn’t save when the food ran out and it’s_

“Jim?”

I blink, refocusing on Spock.  “Yeah, sorry.  Spaced out there for a sec, I’m all right now.” 

_don’t tell him don’t tell him don’t tell him_

He doesn’t look convinced, but he also doesn’t press.  I couldn’t be more grateful. 

“Dr. McCoy performed a medical scan of your brain?”

“Well, sure, you know how overprotective he is.  He didn’t find anything.”

Spock doesn’t respond, just sits there, burying his fingers in the short hairs on the back of my neck.

“Did he provide you with a treatment plan?”

“He, uh – yeah, just some general guidelines, yeah.”

“And you are certain you do not wish to perform a meld?  It may assist in diagnosis.” 

Mental barriers crack and shatter and he is there again his voice stale and dark like pitch like sludge like the fields and decaying bodies and he is _speaking_

_Fuck him.  Fuck him, let him into your mind, and he’ll see who you are._

He’s in every corner of my mind and seconds are hours passing and I can’t respond can’t move my body can’t see the room or Spock all that exists is death and void and terror

My name-

_Not this again._

My name is James Tiberius Kirk! 

 _Yeah, right.  Just another survivor, that’s what you always say.  You keep kidding yourself.  But me? I_ know _you.  Fuck him.  Why don’t you?  You want to._

I’m not like that anymore, he’s different.  _I’m_ different.

_You’re just a murderer who’s got time on lease from the universe.  And now it’s running out._

I’m not a murderer.

_Tell that to all the ones you left behind.  Tell that to the boy with the knife.  Their bodies burned with the rest – or do you mean to tell me you’ve forgotten?_

Rotting flesh in the air and I submerge the memory, drown it next to the _Narada_ in the black holes of my consciousness.  I have forgotten that chapter.

 _Who the fuck are you trying to kid_?

I breathe and I am back in the room and Spock is in front of me and I cling to him just a little tighter and I might be shaking but I control it I tamp it down and I want to tell him everything;

want to tell him about what happened there on the colony that the Federation forgot and the proclamation and how we ran and ran and hid in holes and the dirt that seeped into our pores and how I’ve never been clean since and the boy in the cave and the children that starved and the bodies piled like mountains as maggots ate away at their flesh I want to tell him everything but I _can’t let Spock know_

I find my voice.

“I can’t, Spock.  Thanks, but – I can’t.” 

_You’re afraid he’s gonna see you for what you really are.  Keep trying to shut me out, and he will._

“I understand,” he says, kissing me once more.  “Would you like to order in food?”

“Yeah,” I say, smiling, shoving down my fear, banishing it to foreign corners of my mind.  I can’t look at it, can’t examine it too closely, or I’ll see them again. 

_I have forgotten that chapter._

_Who the fuck are you trying to kid?_

His words haunt me as I follow Spock into the kitchen to look through take-out menus; they run like a marquee through my mind as we pick between Chinese and Italian; they follow me as I fall asleep in Spock’s arms, overwarm in his bed, and I find that I am afraid to close my eyes.

_You’re just a murderer who’s got time on lease from the universe.  And now it’s running out._

***

“Shh!  We’re gonna get found.” 

Pale faces look back at me, gaunt and smudged with earth.  My own body feels so frail, like one punch might shatter my skull. 

_Well, then, don’t fucking get punched._

“C’mon.  There’s a house up ahead – see if maybe we can sneak inside, grab some food.” 

_Slim fucking chance.  If there ever was any food, it’s probably long gone – but it’s better to hope than to starve without putting up a fight._

“All right, ready to move?”

Three ghosts look back at me and nod.  I gather myself. 

We run. 

The earth is scorched – they’d burned corpses two nights before, using a nearby stand of trees as a fuel source.  My toe kicks what’s left of a shattered femur, and I choke down bile.  I’ve got nothing left in my stomach to throw up, not even water.  It’s all polluted now, with the sludge or with the ashes of the ones who didn’t escape. 

Our footsteps pound as we race across the open space between the trees and the house – we’re tiny, shrunken, and if any of them are nearby, they won’t see us.  We’ll look like animals, muddy and hunched as we move. 

_We are animals, now._

Inside the house, it looks like all the others that were abandoned that first day.  Dirt coats the floors in thick layers from raiders who’ve left the doors open, muddy footprints dot the floor where they’ve walked.  The couch is upturned, and there is a smashed table in one corner where it looks like someone was thrown against it.  Broken vases lie on the floor, and shattered picture frames litter the baseboards.

I move slowly across the small space and bend down to look at one.  A girl, my age, her parents – she’s in a wheelchair, smiling, and they’re behind her, looking hopeful, happy. 

 _Don’t fucking lose it.  They don’t matter now_. 

I turn to the ghosts.  “Search the kitchen.  I’m gonna head upstairs – they might’ve hid something.” 

They nod; their throats are too parched to speak. 

The stairs creak as I climb, their wooden boards cracked and battered.  Decay hits my nose, its sickly sweetness common, familiar, to me now. 

There’s only one bedroom upstairs – of course, the girl slept downstairs, where she could access her room. 

Anywhere else, her paralysis wouldn’t have meant a death sentence. 

_Don’t think about her.  She’s long gone at this point.  We don’t worry about the dead._

The master bed is occupied by two.  Their bodies have decomposed into the sheets, flies buzzing in and out of mouths that will forever be agape, empty eye sockets that will always be sightless. 

 _Suicide_.

I dry heave at the foot of their bed. 

A loosened floorboard by the closet unearths a can of beans, and I hold it close to me, covet it.  It’s a good find.  Some more digging yields a single bottle of water – good enough to be gold, in my book.  It takes all my self-restraint not to crack the seal and drink the entire thing – I have others to put before myself.

 _The needs of the many outweigh the needs of the few, or the one_.

I shake my head.  I’ve never heard those words before, but they reek of _him_.  The Executioner. 

Downstairs, the ghosts are waiting for me, empty-handed.  I show them my treasures, and the relief on their faces gives me hope, adrenaline. 

“Let’s go.”

When we get back to the cave, he’s there. 

I’ve never seen his face before, but he’s waiting for us, and he’s eaten our slim stock of food, which was comprised of one piece of stale bread and two bites of moldy cheese. 

“Give it to me, kid,” he says.  His voice is deep, and he’s about two years older than me. 

I tell the others to wait outside, kids, let the big boys talk.  They go with fear in their eyes. 

“C’mon, man,” I say, holding out my hands in a gesture of peace.  “Let’s talk it out, huh?  I’m sure we can come to some sort of agreement.”

_Like he’s actually gonna listen._

“The fuck are you, a diplomat?” he growls, and his brown eyes are dull with hunger, his golden skin hangs loosely on his bones. 

_A pretty fucking poor one._

“We’re all hungry, man.  Nobody has to die.”

_Those who aren’t worthy of survival must die for the betterment of society._

“Yeah?  That fucking right?  Food’s all gone, in case you hadn’t noticed.” 

_You gotta kill him, kid._

He pulls out a knife. 

“If surviving means I gotta kill some rats and eat ‘em, then I’ll do what I gotta do.” 

_If I gotta kill him, I will._

“Hey, man, put down the knife,” I say.  “Come on, we can work this out.  There’s no need.  There’s no need to fight, we’re all just trying to get by.” 

_Great logic, kid.  Like he can think about others when he’s so preoccupied with himself._

The last vestiges of sanity leave his eyes.  “Shut the _fuck_ up or I’ll _shank_ you!”

_Not if I shank you first._

“No, you won’t,” I say, edging closer.  If I can just get close enough to grab the hand holding the knife, I’m sure I can disarm him.  I can barely move from hunger, but if there’s one thing I know how to do, it’s fight.

_It’s all I’ve done for us our whole life._

“Hey, _fuck_ you!” the boy shouts. 

_Fucking try me_

He lunges.  I sidestep the thrust, grab his wrist and twist

“ _Fuck_!” he screams, dropping the weapon and falling to his knees, taking me with him. 

There’s a desperate scramble on the stone floor and my hand is in his face and it’s digging into his eyes and _I need to get the knife I need to get the knife_

My hand closes on a handle and his fingers are at my wrist and I turn and plunge the blade into his neck and I stare down at the body in my hands the one that I’ve killed and it’s

“ _Ashayam_!  Jim!”

My eyes fly open and I can’t move and Spock is above me but his throat is an open wound and blood cascades like a fucking waterfall onto my skin and it’s getting in my eyes and my vision is awash with red

I vomit over the side of the bed. 

“Lights to twenty percent,” Spock says quietly, and the shadows vanish, replaced with the dim comfort of day.

“S-Spock,” I choke, and the tears flow freely now.  His hands run through my hair, over my forehead, and one arm wraps protectively around my waist. 

“Shh, _ka’i,_ you are safe.” 

“I – I killed you,” I gasp, wiping my mouth on my sleeve.  “You were him, you were him and I – I _killed_ you, and you-”

“I assure you, _ashayam_ , you did not,” he whispers, and his voice is soothing.  “I am here, and I am alive.” 

“Oh my god, Spock,” I sob, arms locking around his neck.  I feel worry pouring from his skin.  “My _eval_ – my eval is today, and I – I can’t do this, Spock, how am I supposed to be a _Captain_ with the blackouts and the nightmares and I can’t fucking do this anymore-”

He doesn’t say anything, just lets me talk myself into another bout of tears.  My body feels weak, and my limbs are shaking like I haven’t eaten for days. 

“Jim.  I will always be by your side, be it on the bridge of a starship or palentside.  Whatever happens today, I shall stand by you.” 

“We can’t have the crew over tomorrow, Spock, I can’t do it.  Not with everything that’s happening.  I can’t let them see me like this if things...  No matter how it goes.”

“I will send a message with our sincere apology,” he whispers, cradling the back of my head with one hand.  “You must get dressed.”

“I need to clean this-”

“Do not worry, I will take care of it.  You should shower.” 

He’s right.  My clothes are soaked through with sweat, sticking unpleasantly to my skin. 

“I – all right.  I owe you one.” 

He moves his middle and index fingers against my own.  “You do not.  You are _t’hy’la_.  Go.” 

As I shower, a small knot begins to take shape in the middle of my stomach.  I try my hardest not to think about the dream – the same sort of dream that has been haunting me for the past two weeks, ever since Bones came back from Georgia and I first heard _his_ voice in my head. 

At this point, I’m pretty sure I know what’s going on, but _Christ_ , do I hope I’m wrong. 

I can control him.  If I can hear him, I’m aware of him.  And I can repress him.

 _You talk big_. 

I haven’t blacked out since the last time.  I’ve heard him in my head, but I haven’t been lost to him. 

 _You know, man, I wouldn’t speak too soon.  You think you can pass your eval without me, you got another thing coming_.

I towel-dry my hair and pop a couple aspirin for the headache that’s building in my sinuses.  Stress headache, that’s all it is.  That’s all it ever is. 

I put on my uniform piece by piece.  Boxer briefs.  Undershirt.  Pants.  Belt.  Tunic.  Socks. 

Spock bends down in front of me and laces on my shoes. 

“Do you wish me to accompany you?” 

“No, Spock, I gotta – I gotta do this alone.  Thanks,” I say, and I kiss him, long and slow, no teeth, no tongue, all lips. 

It feels like a goodbye.

And then I’m out the door and crossing the Academy campus, hat tucked under my arm.  It starts to rain, but I don’t put it on; the water feels good against my overheated skin. 

The knot in my stomach continues to grow, and by the time I reach the medical facility it’s the size of a stone.  Bones won’t be doing my examination, which is good – I don’t think he could stand to fail me. 

And I know with absolute certainty that I am going to fail. 

“Captain Kirk,” the receptionist greets me with a broad smile and a fluttering of eyelashes.  I’m a little dismayed until I remember that Spock and I aren’t public, and she thinks I’m single.  I don’t have it in me to flirt back. 

“I’m here to see Dr. M’Benga for my psychological evaluation.”

“Of course, Captain.  If you’ll have a seat, he’ll be out in just a minute.” 

_You’ve lied your way out before.  Do it again.  Don’t talk about how you wake up every night not knowing who you are.  Don’t tell him about the blackouts.  Don’t tell him about me._

I shake my head vigorously.  He’s not real.  I can control him.  I can repress him. 

 _And where do you think you would be without me,_ Captain _?_

“Captain Kirk?”

I look up and see the man who’s going to take my ship away from me.  I can’t blame him.  I’d do the same. 

I follow him into his office, and we sit down. My vision seems to tunnel, and I can't see the decor, can only see the desk, the forms that grace it, the stamp that'll condemn me.

“All right Captain, we’re going to start with a basic word association exercise.  Take a minute, let me know when you’re ready to start.”

_Inhale._

_Exhale._

“Ready.”

“Bridge.”

“ _Enterprise_.”

“Warp.”

 _My muscles are weakening and searing like someone is turning me slowly over a fire that’s lapping hungrily at my exposed skin.  I can’t make it, can’t possibly reach it but the ship is lurching and up there somewhere I left Spock in charge which means he’s evacuated everyone and they are safe but_ I can’t let Spock die

_I grab hold of the fixture and haul myself up.  My feet slam into the warp core again, again, again, and just when I think my force won’t be strong enough, that our ship will go down in a blaze of fire and that Spock will go down with it_

_The warp core snaps back into place, and I am falling, falling, and I need to see him,_ one last time

 _Fingers pressed against glass, a futile salute,_ because I love you _pushed through the glass as I expel my final breath_

His voice is in my head, and his words are poison. 

_Let me take it from here._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> .....Oops...... More pain? Thanks for reading! (Also look at me getting that update up mhm procrastination at its finest how can I destroy my characters further please don't be too mad at me?)
> 
> Also, anybody seen The Enemy Within?? :) <3
> 
> **** also also headcanon that Jim hates diplomacy/talk first shoot later so much because of the trauma he went through on Tarsus (◕‿◕✿)


	10. The Sinking of Soul (Spock)

I cancel my scheduled class.  I cannot concentrate beyond thoughts of Jim, and how he will react to losing the _Enterprise_.

He will not pass his evaluation.  We both know this; I saw it in his eyes as he kissed me goodbye, as he walked out the door.  He is too fragile.

Something occurred between the moment of Jim’s death and his revival after the injection of Khan’s blood.  In no way has his DNA been altered or his vitals changed since his emergence from the coma, and I am therefore forced to conclude that whatever happened to him was purely mental. 

A hypothesis makes the reality of the situation no less unsettling.  I am consumed with a desire to share his mind, to examine the dark spaces more closely and determine the cause for his instability.  He will not allow me, and I will not pressure him; it is not my place to determine what is right for him. 

Nonetheless, I cannot sit still and await the verdict.  The _Enterprise_ belongs to no other than Jim Kirk. 

_I don’t know, Spock, it was like… love at first sight, or something.  Looking at the Enterprise that morning, I knew she’d be mine someday.  I just never thought it would happen like this._

It had been his long before its christening, and it will remain his until pulled apart for scrap.

_La kuvunda halina rubani._

I did not think it would end like this.  If my counterpart had not changed the course of our history –

 _I suppose I'd always imagined us... outgrowing Starfleet together. Watching life swing us into our Emeritus years..._   _I look around at the new cadets now and can’t help thinking… has it really been so long? Wasn’t it only yesterday we stepped onto the Enterprise as boys? That I had to prove to the crew that I deserved command… and their respect?_

_They are not, altogether, that much younger than yourself._

_Yeah, but… I don’t know, Spock, they just seem like kids.  After everything we’ve seen, I just feel… older, somehow._

_They respect you._

_Don’t know why._

_I know what you’d say – ‘It’s their turn now, Jim…” And of course you’re right… but it got me thinking:_

_By the last tally, only twenty five percent of the galaxy’s been chartered… I’d call that negligent. Criminal even – an invitation._

_A five-year mission, Spock!  That’s deep space, that’s uncharted territories! Think how incredible that’s gonna be._  

_You once said being a starship captain was my first, best destiny… if that’s true, then yours is to be by my side.  If there’s any true logic to the universe… we’ll end up on that bridge again someday._

_Admit it, Spock.  For people like us, the journey itself… is home._

He is going to fail, even though I could have done something to prevent it.  Jim is going to lose the _Enterprise_ , lose his future, his first, best destiny, due to my own inaction. 

_Shiyau thol'es k'thorai ri k'ahm._

I cannot allow it.

I check my chronometer – he may still be in the meeting; there may still be a chance to prevent the final diagnosis, postpone the decision until a later date. 

I do not stop to grab my tunic, and before I am fully aware of my actions, I am out the door and running.

My feet drill the newly laid pavement of the Academy and the panic in my _katra_ emulates the adrenaline that seared through my blood the day of his death, the day my _t’hy’la_ was taken from me, the day I nearly sealed his fate forever, stopped only by the words of Nyota, _ndugu_. 

Rage burns like flame across my skin as I concentrate singularly on the medical facility.  I must reach him in time.  I must save him. 

The receptionist shouts as I burst through the glass doors into the waiting area; I slow to a walk, but ignore her.  She is not important.  I am here to save Jim. 

I reach M’Benga’s office, and find him alone at his desk, signing papers.  He looks at me, clearly surprised at my presence.

“Commander Spock, I didn’t expect to see you here.” 

I do not care for pleasantries.  “Where is the Captain?” 

Dr. M’Benga sits back in his chair, and his expression grows wary.  “Why do you want to know?”

“What is the Captain’s status?”

M’Benga picks up a manila file.  “Seems a bit silly, the whole paper routine, but… physical files, and all... I haven’t put it into the system yet.  Why do you need to see it?”

I am losing patience.  “It is a personal request, Doctor.  Please.” 

M’Benga’s eyebrows disappear into his hairline, but he hands me the file.  I open it.

“You have cleared him?”

“Don’t see why not,” M’Benga says, shrugging.  “It’s incredible, how he rebounded after everything that happened to him, but he seems to be in perfect health.  Gave all the right answers, no red flags anywhere, not even any hesitations in his answers to the word association response.”

It does not make sense.  “You noticed nothing unusual with the Captain’s behavior?”

“Look, Commander, I think this qualifies as a breach of doctor-patient confidentiality, so-”

“You do not understand.  This is an urgent matter; I believe the Captain may be in danger.”  

“What’s got you so worried, Commander?” M’Benga says, leaning forward and folding his hands on the desk.  “I didn’t know you two were close.” 

“I am his First Officer.  It is my responsibility to ensure the Captain’s safety.” 

“I still can’t divulge any of this information, even if it’s a matter of patient safety.  I’m sorry, Spock.” 

I pause.  “He is _t’hy’la_.  I cannot allow him to come to harm.” 

M’Benga drops his stylus.  “Are you serious?” 

“Vulcans do not lie.” 

“He – there was a moment, after the second question on the word association.  His face went sort of – blank.  When it cleared up, he seemed energetic, more positive than he had been when entering the room.  I thought maybe it was just nerves, I’d heard he was pretty charismatic.” 

“Thank you, Doctor,” I say, and turn to leave. 

“Wait, Commander!  Are you going to tell me what’s wrong?”

I hesitate in the doorway.  “The Captain has been experiencing fugue states, or, if not fugue states, something quite similar.  It is my belief that he may have developed this as a coping mechanism to deal with the trauma of his death.  He has had nightmares since he emerged from the coma, and they seem to concern visions that are of great distress to him.  I do not know how to help him, beyond a meld, which I would use to attempt a diagnosis of his mental instability.  It is for this reason that I must find him.  If he has developed a dissociative personality, I do not know what form it will take.” 

M’Benga’s mouth is slightly open and his eyes are wide.  “You said this all started to happen after he died?”

“Affirmative.” 

“Commander, have you ever heard of the Buddhist concept of _bardo_?”

“Negative.  I find reincarnation, in the Buddhist sense, to be illogical.”

M’Benga glares at me.  “ _Bardo_ is known as the intermediate state – an in-between state.  It is loosely used to describe the time in between two lives on Earth in Buddhist philosophy.  Essentially, though, it’s believed to happen when a person’s soul isn’t connected to a physical body.  Just after death, the soul encounters the highest clarity of which they’re spiritually capable.  The spirit degenerates, though, if it’s not properly prepared for _bardo_ – hallucinations – usually connected to the soul’s previous actions through the concept of karma – can lead the soul to a poor rebirth.  You mentioned the Captain was having nightmares – if the subjects of these subconscious manifestations are his past deeds, it could be a sort of karmic reckoning.”

“You believe the Captain is experiencing a Buddhist religious phenomenon.” 

“I’m saying the symptoms match up.”

“What, then, is your recommendation for treatment?”

“The Captain is, obviously, still partially connected to a physical body.  He is alive, and he is still, in essence, himself.  I believe that there was an additional anchor in the Captain’s mind.  Another connection, one that was broken when he died.  The absence of this connection left a door, of sorts, open in his mind – that could be what’s prompting his fractured personalities.  Some critical anchor for his soul is missing, and as a result, he’s dying.  There’s some part of him, apparently, that’s fighting back, and I think that’s where we’re seeing the dissociative personality.”  

“The Captain is dying?”

“I’m not sure, Commander,” M’Benga says, and he leans wearily against his desk.  “Maybe.” 

“Did he give any indication as to where he was going?”

“He said he was going to visit an old friend.”

“Thank you, Doctor.  I appreciate your assistance.”

“Good luck, Commander.” 

I do not pause to comm McCoy; I am certain Jim has gone to him.  His apartment is merely five minutes away to a Terran at full sprint.  I reach it in three. 

I knock at the door and do not receive an answer. 

“Leonard!  Jim!” I call through the walls, but there is no response.  My heart rate has increased by 76.8%, and I breathe deeply to regulate it.  I will the panic from my mind, and concentrate on deciphering the Doctor’s door code. 

It takes thirteen seconds, and I am in.

Jim has been here; the scent of his soap lingers on the sofa, and there are two cups of coffee on Leonard’s table.  I feel their temperature, and they are cold. 

_Some critical anchor for his soul is missing, and as a result, he’s dying._

I cannot let him die, and I fear that, due to the presumed appropriation of his mind by an alternate personality, he may be running out of time. 

 _Pike found me in a bar.  I’m sure Uhura’s told you the story-_  

I check my chronometer; she is not in class. 

I place the call.

“Hey, Spock, what’s up?”

I breathe a sigh of relief.  “I would like to know if there are any bars that Jim visited with regularity while he was here at the Academy.”

“Spock, what’s wrong?” she asks, and her voice is wary, frightened. 

“The Captain is in danger.” 

“How do you-”

“Nyota, there is no time.  Please.” 

“There’s a pub – north side of campus, it’s across from the biology building.  He bartended there for his first two years.”

“Thank you, Nyota.”

“Wait, Spock – what’s going on?”

“There is no time.  Thank you, _ndugu._ ”

“Good luck,” she says, and I end the call. 

I do not know what I will find when I arrive at the bar.  I cannot, however, afford to waste more time.

I run.  Academy buildings blur as I go, and Jim’s name becomes a mantra, a sound by which to measure my breathing.  I go two streets above campus until I find the pub.

Its exterior is smeared with concrete dust from the reconstruction occurring throughout campus, and the windows are dim, foggy, with lewd shapes drawn in the condensation. 

There is a crash from inside, and what sounds like several people shouting.  Breaking glass rings in my ears and I am through the door. 

It does not take long to find Jim. 

I watch as he hits a cadet with a well-thrown right hook, following it up with a knee to the stomach.  The cadet stumbles backwards, but four more of his comrades take his place.  Jim does not hesitate, merely throws himself back into the brawl with renewed vigor, punctuating the blows he deals with shouts –

“ _Say-_ ”

An upper cut lays one flat. 

“- _that-_ ”

He shatters a kneecap, and another crumples.

_“-again!”_

Four Terrans, one Andorian, and one Orion lay bleeding on the floor at his feet.  Leonard has one hand on Jim’s shoulder, and the Doctor’s eyes are wide with fear.

“Let’s go, kid, that’s enough-”

“Is it?” Jim snarls, and his eyes are feral.  “You _fuck_ with my _First Officer-_ ”

“Jim.”

The entire bar goes silent. 

He turns to me, and the fight disappears from his eyes. 

“Spock?”

His voice is small, little more than a whisper, and the man standing in front of me is light years away from the animal whom I had just witnessed incapacitate six men.

“I require your assistance with an experiment,” I say softly, standing at perfect parade rest. 

“Let’s go, Jim,” Leonard whispers, taking hold of Jim’s elbow.  He turns to the bartender.  “You can bill me – Leonard McCoy, CMO of the USS _Enterprise_.”

Jim appears to become aware of his surroundings, and looks at the spectacle at his feet with wide eyes.

“I – I-”

People begin to murmur. 

I cross the floor, which is sticky with unwashed beer and liquor, and I stand directly in front of Jim. 

“Please, Captain, if you would accompany me,” I say, raising my eyebrow at Leonard. 

Jim seems to find his feet, and we leave the bar.

“Where am I?” Jim whispers as soon as we are outside.  “What – I was in M’Benga’s office, and – where – what did I just _do_?”

Leonard turns to me, and his face is flushed red with anger.  “What the hell’s going on, Spock?”

I hesitate.  “I would like to discuss this in a private location.”

“Our place?” Jim asks.  He is leaning heavily against my side, and I wrap my arm around his waist to better support him.

“If you are amenable.  Leonard, if you would accompany us.”

His eyes meet mine, and he nods, mouth set in a thin white line. 

Jim’s emotions seep into my skin as we walk, and I feel a yawning chasm of fear, hopelessness, anger.  I hold him tighter to me, pushing back affection, happiness, confidence, warmth.  He stands up straighter. 

We reach the apartment and I sit down with him on the sofa, indicating for Leonard to take the armchair.  Gently, I disengage, and place six inches between us.  It feels like a much larger distance.

“What did – what did I – the eval-” his eyes are panicked, voice thin and close to breaking.

“You passed.”

“No,” he breathes.  “ _He_ – oh my god, I hurt all those people, at the bar, I _hurt_ them-”

“You’ve hurt people before, Jim, you used to get into bar fights all the time.”

Dismayed, Jim looks at Leonard.  “No, I’m – it’s different now.  I’m the Captain.”

“You cannot be held responsible for your actions.  You were not conscious of them at the time.”

“He’s – I can _hear him_ ,” he says, hands clenching into fists.  “He’s _there_ , in my head.  He took over, he hurt those people, and I couldn’t stop him-”

“Who is he, Jim?”

“He – he’s-” Jim blinks, and

“Jesus _Christ_ , don’t you guys get sick of listening to him _bitch_ all the time?”

Jim rolls his shoulders, cracks his neck three times, and leans back against the couch, throwing his arms out behind him so that they lie on top of the sofa.  I see McCoy freeze in my peripheral vision.

“I mean, _god,_ so fucking _whiny._   Protect me, Spock!  Protect me!  I didn’t mean to hurt anyone!  Fucking _pathetic_.”

This is the personality that has been haunting Jim’s consciousness.  I do not wish to interact with it, but Jim did not give me consent for a meld.  I must, therefore, negotiate with whatever has taken his place.

“Who are you?” I ask. 

“Come on, Spock,” he says, leaning forward, eyes glinting dangerously.  “You’re telling me even _you_ don’t know who I am?  Some _t’hy’la_ you are.”

His pronunciation is flawless. 

“Spock, what the hell’s going on?” Leonard asks, eyes still locked on Jim, as if he is a rabid animal. 

“And you! Jesus, Bones, you call yourself a Doctor?” Jim says, turning to Leonard.  “You let me walk all over you!  Jim here was about to tell you _everything_ and – well, I couldn’t let that happen, so I kinda… hijacked him for a bit.  Led you on with a nice little conversation about narcolepsy.  You didn’t suspect anything.  Sometimes,” he adds, a smug smile on his face, “it frightens me how _good_ I am.” 

“But you, Spock,” he says, turning back to me.  “Boyfriend of the fucking _year_.  I’d have left him ages ago, what with all the neediness, the clinging, the “oh, I can’t sleep in my own bed because my own past is haunting me!”” His voice is a perversion.  “What a fucking _child_!  Can’t man up to his own actions.”

_The absence of this connection left a door, of sorts, open in his mind – that could be what’s prompting his fractured personalities.  Some critical anchor for his soul is missing, and as a result, he’s dying.  There’s some part of him, apparently, that’s fighting back, and I think that’s where we’re seeing the dissociative personality._

“Who the hell are you?” Bones asks.  “Khan?”

Jim laughs, and the sound is bitter and cruel.  “Khan?  You’re serious?  No, I’m not Khan.  Your super serum worked, Bones, don’t you fret,” he adds, clapping Leonard on the knee.  He does not move; merely stares, horrified. 

“But you, Spock, mm?  _T’hy’la_? _Spunau bolayalar t'Wehku bolayalar t'Zamu il t'Veh._   _Dakh pthak_!You know who I am.” 

I have never heard Jim speak such perfect Vulcan.  I have translated phrases for him for months. 

“You know how to speak Vulcan?”

“Well, yeah, I was in the Academy’s xenolinguistics club.  There were a lot of good looking aliens there – guess the language stuck with my sex drive,” he adds with a lewd grin.  “How else would he have known those words, heard them in his nightmares?  You can only dream about people you know – same goes for alien tongues.” 

I stop. 

_There’s some part of him, apparently, that’s fighting back._

“You are Jim.”

“Bingo!” Jim shouts, slamming his hand on the table.  Leonard jumps.  “The computer gets it in one.  I’m surprised, Bones, you’ve known me the longest – can’t even tell your best friend when he’s staring you right in the face.” 

Leonard’s skin grows pale.  “No.  You’re not Jim.  You’re just an alter-ego he’s created to deal with his trauma.  You’re a dissociative personality.” 

Jim’s grin becomes wicked.  “Am I?  Is that what I am?”  His voice is condescending and he looks at Leonard with eyes that are half-mad.  I have seen those eyes before, in Heroes Grove on our one-month anniversary.  He was there, even then. 

“Because you know, Bones, that’s what he’d like you to believe.  The _Captain_ , full of ethics and noble ideas about peace and exploration.”  Jim makes a retching noise, then stands and begins to move toward the kitchen.  I hear glasses clinking, and he returns with a bottle of bourbon and three tumblers.  “We wouldn’t _be_ Captain if it wasn’t for me.  What I did for us.” 

He pours the bourbon and hands us glasses, but the threat has not left his eyes. 

“Come on, drink with me.” 

We do. 

“If you could clarify your previous statement.” 

Jim throws one arm around my shoulders, and I feel immeasurable darkness where the skin of his fingers touches my neck.  Anger, pain, loss, heartbreak are communicated through the contact, and I shudder.  I know that darkness – I have felt it within myself.

“He wouldn’t want me telling you any of this,” Jim says, draining his glass and reaching for the bottle to pour himself another.  “He thinks you’ll hate him when you find out about everything… all the things we’ve done.

“Because, here’s the thing-” he moans appreciatively as the liquor slides down his throat “-the Captain is so _fucking good_ at pushing it all away.  I mean, god, he hates himself _so much_ , it’s incredible!  How anyone continues through life despising, repressing, half of who they are is always gonna be a mystery to me.  But I’m the product of that repression, and here we are.” 

His skin is warm against mine, and I feel the alcohol affecting the neural pathways in his brain. 

“He’s always been great at ignoring all the things I’ve done for us.  He forgets about it, like it never fucking happened.  But I remember it.  All of it.

“I remember Tarsus, and how the bodies looked as Kodos’ men burned them – piles of charred limbs and dirty rags.  I remember how it felt to run and starve, and how it felt to be dying from thirst.”

 _Why don’t you just show me Pike’s death again, or fucking_ Tarsus

“I killed a kid with my own bare hands because I didn’t have any other choice.  And it felt good, watching the life slip from him, seeing his blood spill over my fingers and pool on the ground.  I _liked_ it – I felt… powerful.”

_You were him, you were him and I – I killed you, and you-_

“Of course, good, moral, _ethical_ Jim Kirk couldn’t come to terms with that, so he created me.  That way, he wouldn’t have to face what he’d done.  What _we’d_ done.  And then he locked me up, like I was _worthless_.  Used his _intelligence_ to put me behind bars – in a mind that is as much mine as it is his.” 

Jim stands and begins to pace.  The action is hauntingly familiar; he is as I see him during difficult missions – in the briefing room, on the bridge.      

“But I was able to throw in some things… every now and then, he’d turn back to me.  I could… influence his actions.  Because I don’t know if you noticed,” he pauses, laughing, “but without me, he can’t make a decision to save his fucking _life_.  He got _good_ at using me.  He could _control_ me.”

He pinches the bridge of his nose with his thumb and index finger, and my heart throbs because _I should have seen I should have known_  

“What changed?” Leonard interjected.  “What’s so different now?”

“Now?” Jim smiles.  “After we died, I knew he was going to be fucked up.  I knew it – something snapped when we closed our eyes in that radiation chamber.  I worked so _fucking_ hard to keep him from going in.  But, running through his head the whole fucking time – _Spunau bolayalar t'Wehku bolayalar t'Zamu il t'Veh._ ‘Spock’s evacuated everyone, but I need to save him.’”

He shakes his head.  “You really did a number on us, Spock.  Our whole life, we’ve been fighting to stay alive.  Get through another day, another hour, on Tarsus, in Riverside, at the Academy.  And I did _such_ a good job keeping us alive.”

He looks as if he wants me to respond.  I do not; I know Jim Kirk, and he has more to say.

His voice grows quiet.  “And then we fucking met _you_.  He’s so _fucking_ in love with you, Spock, did you know?  Probably not – he’s never told you, has he?  Not for real.  He told you that one night, weak and shaking in your bed, that he loved you, but it didn’t count, did it? 

“You know what the worst part is?  I absolutely can’t fucking _stand_ you.  And,” he runs his hand through his hair, “you know, it’s the worst, because – I hate you because I know that we can’t get by without you.  Not anymore.” He picks up the bottle of bourbon and takes a long draw.    

“He’s finally found someone that he needs more than he needs me.  And I was willing to give him that.  I was willing to be used, _tamed_ , because he’d finally found someone who cared about him more than he cared about himself.

“And then we had to go and _die_ for you.  And he was about to lose the _Enterprise_ – the ship we’ve worked so hard to get, all these years.  I couldn’t let that happen.  Not when we’d spent so much time getting there – getting off planet, getting up into the stars.

“Because,” he sits on the armrest of the sofa and opens his body so that he is addressing both myself and Leonard, “all I ever really cared about was that we survived.  And _fuck_ did he make it difficult.  But I’m here now, and I won’t ever let him endanger our career – our life – again.” 

“You do not wish to relinquish control.”

“’Course not,” Jim scoffs.  “I keep us safe.  I-”

He sways slightly, and holds out a hand to catch himself.  “I can’t go back to that.  I won’t let him take it away from me again.”

“I spoke to Doctor M’Benga after your psychological evaluation.  He does not believe you will survive if your two halves do not reintegrate.” 

“And what, be subjugated again?”

“I believe it will assist in greater mental stability.”

“I’m not causing his nightmares,” Jim says, shrugging.  “I’m just taking the blame.”

_Essentially, though, it’s believed to happen when a person’s soul isn’t connected to a physical body.  Just after death, the soul encounters the highest clarity of which they’re spiritually capable.  The spirit degenerates, though, if it’s not properly prepared for bardo – hallucinations – usually connected to the soul’s previous actions through the concept of karma – can lead the soul to a poor rebirth.  You mentioned the Captain was having nightmares – if the subjects of these subconscious manifestations are his past deeds, it could be a sort of karmic reckoning._

Faced with dreams, hallucinations, of his past, Jim created a separate identity to shoulder the responsibility of his actions; by distancing himself, he retained the semblance of sanity while awake. 

The issue, therefore, is not the animalistic Jim in front of me, but rather the fragmented nature of the Captain’s mind.  A lost connection.

_I believe that there was an additional anchor in the Captain’s subconscious.  Another connection, one that was broken when he died.  The absence of this connection left a door, of sorts, open in his mind – that could be what’s prompting his fractured personalities._

Closing the door will mean re-attaching the initial connection, the missing anchor.  If I am able to do so, Jim’s personalities will, logically, reintegrate.  He will heal. 

I am at a loss to describe the nature of the initial connection, or how I will be able to reestablish it.

_An anchor… something I can depend on when I can’t rely on myself._

_Anyways, thanks for coming.  Don’t know what it is about you, but he seems to find you comforting._

_The leaders of these clans, desperate for a victor to be chosen, met by agreement on a flat outcropping on the mountainside – the appointed place.  They agreed to fight, not with weapons, but with their hands, in ancient tradition._   _It is said that when their skin made contact, they would not combat one another.  Their minds were kin.  This was the first t’hy’la bond._

_Bit different from our first meeting._

_Negative._

_You almost killed me._

_I could never have irreparably harmed you.  Even then, as enemies, my mind recognized yours.  After, I was too devastated by Va’Pak to acknowledge the connection._

_Kuwapo moyoni, halipo machoni._

_Jim trusts you as he trusts no one else._ You _are his anchor, the constant to which he returns in times of disorder.  This is not a recent development, but rather the basis of your friendship – reason to chaos, logic to emotion, dark to light.  You are Jim’s opposite, and yet at your katra, you are the same.  You know this.  You have felt it._

_I hate you because I know that we can’t get by without you.  Not anymore._

_It’s you, Spock.  It’s always been you._

“Jim,” I say, standing.  “I ask your permission to perform a meld.  I believe I will be able to assist you.” 

He stares back at me, eyes dark with fear.  “I don’t want to go back.” 

“If you do not let me meld with you, Jim, you will die.  You said that all you ever cared about was that you and the Captain survived.  If your survival is, indeed, all that concerns you, then this is the best possible course of action.”

I hesitate. 

“Please, _ashayam_.  Let me help.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Translations:  
> La kuvunda halina rubani. - A vessel running aground has no Captain  
> Shiyau thol'es k'thorai ri k'ahm - Nobility lies in action, not in name.  
> Spunau bolayalar t'Wehku bolayalar t'Zamu il t'Veh. - The needs of the many...  
> Dakh pthak - Cast out fear  
> Kuwapo moyoni, halipo machoni. - Something can be in the heart without being seen.
> 
> Oh my god I have so much schoolwork to do this isn't even funny y'all I procrastinated so hard on everything to get this chapter up D: Thanks so much for reading!


	11. Voluntary Exertion (Jim)

_Darkness. Pitch black tar antimatter absence of light.  Air like water like solid like rock._

I don’t know where I am. 

A sea of thought surrounds me, memories flash, synapses fire in the distance. 

I am dead again, red rage sears through my mental pathways and I shy away. 

_My hand closes on a handle and his fingers are at my wrist and I turn and plunge the blade into his neck and I stare down at the body in my hands the one that I’ve killed_

_What is it like not to feel anger… or heartbreak… or the need to stop at nothing to avenge the death of the woman who gave birth to you?_

_You feel_ nothing _!  It must not even_ compute _for you!  You_ never _loved her!_

He is in control, now. 

_I can control him.  If I can hear him, I’m aware of him.  And I can repress him._

I had been wrong.  So, so, wrong, and now Spock is going to pay the price.  He’s going to _see_. 

 _Where is Spock_? 

Amidst the blackness, in between constellations of thought and antimatter stars –

A hole. 

Not gaping or wide but ragged and charred, as if it had been broken suddenly and without warning.  It is familiar but lacking, and I know that something used to belong in this space.

A tether. 

I feel _him_ everywhere.  His consciousness – my consciousness? – surrounds the hole as maggots crowd a wound. 

I cower from the abstract and the pain and the anger and I find myself standing amidst golden corn, green stalks swaying in the wind. 

_the sky acclimates to a pale blue powdered with clouds, cotton hanging suspended_

“You’re going to be okay, you always are, always doing everything right – good grades, obeying every stupid order…  I can’t be a Kirk in this house.

“Show me how to do that, and I’ll stay.”

_I can’t say anything, can’t convince him to stay with me because I need him and he’s family and he’s all I have because Winona’s absent and Frank is –_

“I’ll see you.”

_Scrabbling at the dirt hands clawing for purchase and I feel a fingernail come loose and the pain shoots through my hand but it is lost in the pleasure disappointment of dodging the end once again._

“Is there a problem, Officer?”

“Citizen, what is your name?”

“My name is James Tiberius Kirk!”

I smile.  That was before everything – before Tarsus, before Vulcan, before Khan

before Spock.

I will never see him again.

_And I watched as you shed tears over me, and I thought – well, now’s my chance.  I’ll never walk down the hallways of the Enterprise with him again, I’ll never see the way he turns at his station to look at me, I’ll never see how his eyes shine when he discovers something new on an alien world, I’ll never touch those ears, or hold those hands, or watch him smile.  I’ll never see those eyes again._

_I need you to know why I couldn’t let you die… why I went back for you._

_But I ran out of time._

_Because you are my friend._

I have never said it to him, never told him.  Too afraid of commitment, too afraid he would realize he had come to love half a man. 

The corn field dissolves and I am back in the black of space amidst the endless reaches of stars.  It is almost peaceful, and I float, limbs leaden with air that accompanies death. 

_Captain._

His voice is smoke, there and gone before I am sure it exists. 

 _Captain_.  _Jim_. 

He is real, and then his mind is wrapped around my own with clay-red tendrils that are heat and anxiety and love. 

 _Spock_. 

_Jina jema hungara gizani._

I don’t know how he came to be here, in this waste, or if this is what a meld feels like, but I cling to the reality of him.

_Reason to chaos, logic to emotion, dark to light._

He shapes our mindscape and the Observation Deck of the _Enterprise_ materializes around us, looking out onto the vast frontier of space. 

“Jim,” he says, and his eyes betray caution.  He does not move closer. 

“Spock,” I say, and throw my arms around his shoulders, burying my face in his neck.  He responds to my embrace, wrapping his arms around my waist and holding me close to him. 

“Jim,” he repeats, but his voice is broken.  I don’t want to know what he has been through, don’t want to know what _he’s_ told him. 

“I’m so sorry, Spock, he just took over, I couldn’t do anything about it-”

“Shh, _ashayam_.  It is fine.” 

“What are you doing here?  He let you in?” I ask, pulling back just far enough to see his eyes. 

Spock pauses.  “He had to be persuaded, but yes, I was ultimately successful in convincing him to meld with me.” 

“Why?”

“Because,” comes a voice from the other end of the Deck, “he seems to think we’re dying.  And I can’t let that happen, now, can I?”

I freeze.  “You brought him here?” 

“I did not have a choice, Jim,” Spock says. 

“Gotta face up to it eventually, buddy,” he says.  I hear his footsteps as he approaches, loud and resonant on the floor. 

“Up to what?” I ask.  He’s only ten feet away now. 

“All the things we’ve done,” he shrugs, picking at one of his nails absently. 

“I didn’t do them.  You did those things – you killed that boy, you-”

“Who the fuck are you trying to kid?  You remember it, don’t you?”

“No.”  I back away; I need to put as much space as possible in between us.  Spock’s form is distorted by shadow that emanates from the Jim before me.  He leers, eyes thin and deadly.

“You do.  You remember the way it felt when you held the knife, jabbed it into his skin, one thrust at a time.  You remember how it felt to hold a life in your hands, and to have complete control over whether it lived or died.  We could have taken the knife, that night, you know, and driven him out of the cave.  He didn’t have to die.  But you killed him.  You _enjoyed_ it.” 

“I’m not a murderer!”

“Aren’t you?  Do you really not remember?”

I open my mouth to say no, but the word won’t come out.  

“Ever wondered why you’re no good at diplomacy, Jimmy?  It’s my fault – shoot first, talk later.  We get impatient at stagnation.  Without me, you can’t make decisions.  Can’t be Captain.  You know it’s true.” 

“I got rid of you, though.  The day of the _Narada_ , I got rid of you.  For good.  You were gone.  I was Captain that entire time without you.” 

 _Coming to find as he took the Chair that the voice haunting his dreams and whispering in the back of his head since he was thirteen had disappeared and it was never coming back because he had what he’d always wanted he had a ship and he had a crew and_ family

He sighs and rolls his eyes.  “You never got _rid_ of me.  You can’t get rid of half of yourself, you dumb shit.  You don’t have to _like_ me, but I’m always gonna _be_ there.  But, you know, you’re right.  You didn’t need me to look out for us, because we'd found something better.” 

“What are you trying to say?” 

He takes another step towards me. “I’m talking about Spock.” 

I glance to my right, where Spock had been just seconds before.  He is gone. 

_Where is Spock?_

“I don’t understand.” 

“No, of course you don’t,” he says, and pinches the bridge of his nose. 

The simple motion makes me dizzy, sick. 

“Spock is the best thing that’s ever happened to us.  He brought out the best parts in each of us, in equal measure.  We couldn’t be Captain without your ethics and intellect, but we also couldn’t be Captain without the skills I bring to the table – a different sort of intelligence, an intense drive for survival, the ability to make decisions based on our well-being so we get out of shit _alive_.” 

 _I don’t believe in no-win scenarios_. 

“Your _intelligence_?” I ask.  I can’t believe what I’m hearing.  “What _intelligence_?  How to properly kill someone?  How to make the decision of when to take a life?  No, I don’t need your _intelligence_.” 

“ _It’s_ _yours too_!” he roars, face distorted with frustration.  “We are _one person_ , kid, whether you fucking like it or not!  You couldn’t accept what we did on Tarsus, so you _made me_!  Locked me away in the cobwebbed cellar of your subconscious!  But guess what – now we’re _dying_!  So either you fucking come to terms with all the shit we’ve done, or you forfeit your life.  Your balance on sanity when we’re divided is tenuous at _best_ , if we’re being honest.”

“It’s only tenuous because you send those nightmares-”

“Oh, you think _I’m_ giving you those?” he interrupts.  “Hate to break it to you, but I’m actually _concerned_ about our quality of life.  It just so happens that everything I’ve done to keep us alive is coming back to you now, all because of some stupid Buddhist karma shit.  You can’t forget it anymore, Jim.  You just have to suck it up and fucking _accept it_.”

“Where did Spock go?” I am desperate for a subject change, because what he’s saying is starting to make sense.

He shrugs.  “He’s fixing whatever broke when we died.  Whatever anchor snapped.  Whatever is keeping us in between life and death.” 

“What does he think that is?”

“Don’t you know?”

_An anchor… something I can depend on when I can’t rely on myself._

_Not gaping or wide but ragged and charred, as if it had been broken suddenly and without warning.  It is familiar but lacking, and I know that something used to belong in this space._

_It’s you, Spock.  It’s always been you._

“He’s making a link, between us and him – where that hole is.”

“You got it,” he says, pacing.  “He says our minds recognized each other’s, that day, on the bridge.  Part of us attached to him – a sort of _t’hy’la_ link – not a bond, thank god, I don’t think I could handle that kind of commitment.”

“I could.”

He glares at me.  “Anyways, he wants to reestablish it.  Guess his bonding cortex has been so fucked up this past year, what with all the familial deaths, that he didn’t realize there was anything there – and we heard about how distraught he was when we died, so… it would make sense.”

“You’re saying Spock’s gonna be in my mind.”

“Well, in _our_ mind, and I mean, it’s _not_ a bond, so it won’t be anything like… mind reading.  For now,” he adds.  “He says it’s gonna save us.” 

“I won’t go back to having you in my head,” I say, and my breath is coming in short, panicked bursts.  “I can’t do it.  Not to Spock.  He won’t love us.  He didn’t fall in love with you, he fell in love with me.” 

“Jim,” he says, and his shoulders soften; the cruelty disappears from his face.  “He didn’t fall in love with _you_ after we _died_.  He fell in love with _us_.  He fell in love with us during chess games, on away missions, on _this very Observation Deck_ after those missions went badly.  He fell in love with us as we lay injured in sickbay, when we made stupid decisions about our own survival because you were so self-sacrificing you wouldn’t listen to me and he had to come save us. 

“He fell in love with us as we sparred in the rec rooms, as we showered side-by-side in the locker rooms, as we brushed our teeth, still half-asleep, in our shared bathroom.  He fell in love with us when we started drinking Vulcan tea, and when we changed our diet to eat more vegetarian food, when we stood up for him on Andronicus III after those aliens told him he was a half-breed.

“He fell in love with us during shore leave, when we tried to hold him under the water at that lake we visited as a bridge crew, when we dared him to eat the local fare at the market even though nobody else would touch it because of the smell.  He fell in love with us those nights we drank with Scotty and he had to carry us home, or the ones when read Byron to him as he was laid up in sickbay with that space flu he got even though he said he couldn’t get sick. 

“He fell in love with us as we lay dying outside that radiation chamber because you were enough of an idiot to go in.  He fell in love with us because we finally realized that no-win scenarios were possible, not because a third option isn’t always available, but because sometimes someone has to make a sacrifice that will cost them everything they are.”

_Your argument precludes the possibility of a no-win scenario._

_I don’t believe in no-win scenarios._

_Then not only did you violate the rules, you also failed to understand the principal lesson._

_Please, enlighten me._

_You of all people should know, Cadet Kirk, a Captain cannot cheat death._

“That we, of all people, could set aside our desperate survival instinct to save the lives of those who mattered most.”

_I of all people._

“He didn’t fall in love with you, Jim,” he says, and his voice is almost gentle.  “He fell in love with _us_.  And Spock needs us whole.  The _Enterprise_ needs her Captain, Jim.”

“ _La kuvunda halina rubani,_ ” I whisper. 

“Some people are nobody's enemies but their own.” 

“Dickens,” I say, forcibly slowing my heart rate. 

“And don’t you know it.”

“He’s fixing us?”

“Yeah, Jim,” he says, holding out his hand.  “He’s gonna fix us.  No more nightmares.  Just us, and him.  And Bones,” he adds as an afterthought. 

“Yeah, Bones, too,” I laugh. 

I step forward, take his hand, and we fall.  

We fall through light and my cells are bursting and ripping open; I am being flayed alive and I feel him in me as we sink and we are drowning.

Our skin is grey and blotched with mold, decay and water turns to blood around us, we struggle to breathe and in doing so find that we are one, he is me and I am him and we are

I. 

Blood fills my lungs and I am thirteen again killing the boy in the cave and the thrill of driving the knife through his throat swarms me and

_I did it to survive_

I am sixteen again as I drive the bliss deeper into my system and bend over in that alley and

_I did it to escape_

I am twenty three again as I lay them down on the floor of the local bar and

_I did it just for fun_

I am twenty six again as I deal out words like daggers in the face of a man who has just lost his mother and

_I did it for power_

I am twenty seven again as I climb the structure of the warp core resigned to death for a crew I never deserved and

_I did it for them_

I did it for me.

 _Ashayam_ Spock says and I hurtle through memories that are not my own but those of a young outcast on a planet with too many laws

_ple’ma tsu rashaya?_

A bloody beat down at the training facility and I smile at the memory because it is one we have shared

_Have you ever gotten in a fistfight?  And don’t say Khan, that doesn’t count._

_I have._

A Vulcan child, all straight bangs and pointed ears and a bleeding lip and he asks his father why he married his mother and

_Marrying your mother was… logical._

A Vulcan man in traditional clothes brings up _kolinahr_ to his mother and

_Oh, Spock. As always, whatever you choose to be, you will have a proud mother._

He stands on the transporter pad, one hand outstretched as if he may bring her back with the sheer force of his will alone and he lowers his arm because wishing for her survival is illogical when she is gone, dead with the rest of his race, whose katras did not survive and

_I need everyone to continue performing admirably._

The Cadet on the bridge and he is insolent and he does not know why but his katra yearns for something to replace that which has been lost and

_Get him off this ship._

Comrades in arms and when the odds have all but vanished he asks for one last favor and

_It’ll work._

The ship rights itself and an ensign proclaims a miracle but

_There are no such things._

_I don’t believe in no-win scenarios._

_You of all people should know, Cadet Kirk, a Captain cannot cheat death._

Guilt and regret and sorrow and pain and a green thirst for revenge

_How I ever thought you didn’t know the pain that accompanies the loss of someone you love._

Our souls are spinning, his katra sears, cleansing and beyond control and it consumes me, a California wildfire in August.  The gaping space of dark stars and charred holes are burned away and I am left with embers – they shimmer and crackle, sparks flaring in the constellations of my mind, ashes promise rebirth, new growth, green buds from destruction. 

_Jim._

_Reason to chaos logic to emotion dark to light_

_give me reason, Spock_

I see light.

We are in the shipyard as the _Enterprise_ is reconstructed above us, our crew working long into the night; the stars glisten as they do in deep space – an invention, but welcome. 

Spock takes my hand and my soul is a candle whose wick has not been trimmed, flicking high for an instant before it tempers itself. 

“She is beautiful,” Spock says softly. 

I squeeze his hand.  “I don’t think I’ve ever heard you call her a ‘she.’”

“Terrans have an unusual history of gendering ships.  I find that, as I interact more closely with humans, I am more likely to utilize Terran verbiage.”

“Hey, be nice,” I say, laughing.  “Exposure is good for you.  _Eik-veshtaya to'ovau kau - lu veshtaya ri glazhau goh na'kastorilaya t'kashan._ ”

He turns his head towards me and smiles – a true, honest to god smile.  “There are several things I can think of that I would not be averse to experiencing.” 

Lust flows through our touch, and I reciprocate – my sex drive, notably absent since my death, has apparently returned with a vengeance. 

“I’m willing,” I say, grinning. 

“ _Nuh’mau-wak._ I am glad to have you back.”

“Are you?”

“Affirmative.”

“You know now, though.  You know everything – and you’re still with me?”

Spock pauses to glance down at our entwined hands.   “Being split in two halves is no theory with me, Jim. I have a human half, as well as a Vulcan half, submerged, constantly at war with each other.  I survive it because my intelligence wins out over both, makes them live together.”

“I thought he was an animal, but he wasn’t, not really.  He was smart.  Cold, calculating, self-interested, but smart.  He was me.”

“He was human,” Spock says.  “Jim, I do not care what you have done in your past, nor how you make your decisions.  You are whole, and you are _t’hy’la_.  And you are _good_.”

 _Spock, I’m not – the other Jim.  He was_ good _.  I – I’m not._

“I’ve never told you, Spock.  What I said to you before – I was right – it didn’t count, that night.  I only said it with one part of my soul.”

Spock’s eyes are galaxies in the darkness of the shipyard.  “It does not need saying.” 

“It does.  I meant to say it as I was dying, I should have said it months ago, when I woke up in the hospital, when I first slept over, when we first kissed.  I love you, Spock.  More than I’ve loved anything my whole life.  And if they took away the _Enterprise_ tomorrow, as long as we were together, I could find a way to be happy.” 

Spock traces my lower lip with one thumb. 

“ _Taluhk nash-veh k’dular._ ”

I kiss him, and we allow the _Enterprise_ to slip away, too concerned with sensation, the movement of katra on soul, merging our minds, our thoughts. 

Spock begins to pull away, and I follow him reluctantly.

The physical world hits me like a fucking train.  I slam back to my body, gasping for air, and Bones is halfway to my neck with a hypo before I can make a move to get away. 

“Dammit, Bones!” I cry as it hisses against my skin.  “What the fuck was that for?”

“You’ve been out for damn near two hours!” he shouts, and his eyes are livid.  “Unbelievable – your pulse had slowed to 25 beats per minute!  You – I-” he splutters. 

“The attempt was successful, Leonard,” Spock says, straightening his shirt and briefly touching his fingers to mine. 

“I figured that one out for myself, surprisingly enough,” Bones huffs, replacing the hpyospray in his medkit. 

“Do you just carry that thing with you everywhere you go?” I ask, still rubbing my neck. 

Bones rolls his eyes.  “You’re a child, Jim.  Now, I’m gonna excuse myself and go work things out with M’Benga.  You say the thing is fixed, Spock?  He’s back to normal?”

“ _He’s_ sitting right here-”

“Affirmative.  The reintegration was willingly engaged in by both participants, and I have reestablished the _t’hy’la_ link that was broken upon Jim’s death.” 

Bones nods and moves to leave, but pauses.  “Wait, why didn’t you go crazy?” 

Spock lifts an eyebrow.  “I did not die.” 

“Damn enigma,” Bones grumbles.  “I’ll schedule you for, what, next week, Jim?  Go in, take a second shot at it now that you’ve got that giant brain of yours under control.” 

I laugh.  “Sure, next week sounds good.  But now, unless you want to join us,” I raise my eyebrows suggestively, “I would recommend you leave.  Spock and I got a lot to catch up on.” 

The door shuts before I finish my sentence.  Grinning, I turn to Spock. 

“So how ‘bout those experiences, huh?” 

He all but carries me to bed. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Translations:  
> Jina jema hungara gizani. - A good name shines in the dark.  
> La kuvunda halina rubani - A vessel running aground has no Captain.  
> ple’ma tsu rashaya - Cannot the same be said for me?  
> Eik-veshtaya to'ovau kau - lu veshtaya ri glazhau goh na'kastorilaya t'kashan. - Wide experience increases wisdom, provided the experience is not sought purely for the stimulation of sensation.  
> Nuh’mau-wak. - It has been too long since last I saw you.  
> Taluhk nash-veh k’dular. - I cherish thee (accepted declaration of love between t'hy'la or bondmates)
> 
> Although I took inspiration from "The Enemy Within," I really wanted to explore what it would have been like if their positions had been reversed - if good!Jim was the one who needed convincing. Spock brings out the best parts in Jim - to me, it was only logical that those best parts wouldn't just reside in good!Jim, but in dark!Jim as well. Examining what it took to get dark!Jim to agree to be subjugated again was interesting. In the end, dark!Jim makes the ultimate sacrifice and offers to be confined and controlled again, not only to help save their life, but to offer good!Jim a chance at his destiny with Spock, since both halves of Jim loved him beyond anything else. Hope you enjoyed it!
> 
> Okay, I think we're looking at one or two more chapters, so stay tuned!


	12. New Life (Spock)

Jim fidgets in my arms. 

_Nemusha, las'hark._

_Ina, khiori._

I scowl at the pet name. 

_Hey, it’s only fair.  Unless you want me calling you “babe” around Campus –_

_No._

_Then quit complaining_ , he says, and nuzzles further into my embrace.  _I’m still not gonna be able to get back to sleep.  Too excited.  I mean, come on, you’re not even the least bit amped?_

_I am uncertain of the definition of that word._

I feel him roll his eyes, although I do not see it. 

 _You know,_ he says, peppering lazy kisses down my neck, _I think you say those things just to make me feel smarter._

_I do not.  The magnitude of your intellect is nearly equal to my own._

He bites lightly on a nipple, and I gasp at the sudden flare of pain. 

_Take that back!_

_I rescind it._

_Good,_ he says, licking gently at the abused flesh.  _Let’s be real here, though – why the fuck_ wouldn’t _they?_

I find that I do not have a sufficient answer.  Jim had been entirely confident approaching his second psychological evaluation, his mind complete and no longer tormented by the _bardo_ phenomenon. 

“Do you wish me to accompany you?” I asked for the second time in two weeks, buttoning Jim’s dress tunic as he stared intently at my features, his skin seeping lust. 

“’Course,” he said.  As I made a move to pull my hands away, he captured my fingers and raised one hand slowly to his lips.  I watched as they surrounded my finger, lush and nearly pornographic, and I recalled our actions in the shower that morning.  The desire streaming through his touch prompted a similar reaction in myself, and I removed my hand from his grasp. 

“Is seems impossible to satiate you.”

“What can I say?  Guess I’m a sex machine,” Jim said, grinning.  He grabbed his cap and tossed me my own.  “Let’s go get this shit done, and then we can come back and finish what we just started.” 

“I must go to the Science building after you have finished with M’Benga.”

He tilted his head back with a long-suffering sigh.  “We could just have sex there.  In the lab.  On the tables.  You know, I bet I could do some interesting things with a test tube-”

“No.”

“God, Spock, you’re never any fun,” he said, pouting.  “Let’s go, then.”

Halfway across campus, he leaned into my side and whispered, “Admit it, you’re wondering exactly what I would do with that test tube.”

“I was wondering no such thing.” 

Seventy five minutes later, Jim had been cleared for duty.  Our sex was not gentle that night. 

 _Seniority,_ I respond at last, tangling my fingers in Jim’s hair as he continues to nose down my chest. 

 _‘S what you said last time._   His tongue finds the trail of hair by my navel. 

_Jim, we do not have time –_

He inches lower and I feel my heart respond.

_Yeah, we do._

_We do not.  You must shower._

_Only if you come, too,_ he says, and he mouths insistently along my shaft. 

_Jim –_

_Please?_  His eyes are imploring. 

_Fine._

_What was that?_ he teases, tonguing at the head. 

_Yes, ashayam._

He grins and relents.  “C’mon,” he says, voice thick and raspy with sleep. 

I follow him into the shower in a pattern that has become routine over the course of the last five months.  He washes my body as if it is his own, and I know every square centimeter of his skin.  When he kneels on the slick tiles and takes my penis in his mouth, the action is familiar, as is the fire it fuels in my katra.  

The first time we showered together, I washed him as if he were breakable.  We kissed, and it was chaste, Jim’s fingers bruising the hollows beneath my hipbones as he unraveled in my arms. 

I do not need to be cautious, now. 

I pull him off me with one hand and use the other to guide him to his feet; he comes, and his smile is willing and open. 

“Thought you said we didn’t have time,” he says as I push him against the wall of the shower. 

“We do not, but I do not believe I possess the self-control necessary to resist your advances.” 

“Fuck, Spock,” he pants as my breath ghosts over his back.  “I’m fine from last night, just – fuck me, _please_.” 

I am more than happy to oblige.

***

Jim pauses outside the entrance to Headquarters; his cheeks, flushed bright pink after our shower, are resuming their natural hue, and his eyes are restless with nerves. 

“Do I look all right?”

I glance around the surrounding area to ensure there is nobody nearby.  “You look exceptionally aesthetically pleasing.” 

He nods.  “Okay.  Regardless of what happens in there-”

“Jim-”

“We stick together.”

“Of course.”

“Okay,” he says again, and we enter the facility. 

“But, you know, when we get it-”

“ _Captain-_ ”

“We gotta have a party.  A fucking _huge_ party.  Rent out a local venue, pick up a DJ, give ‘em something special before we head out.” 

“I do not believe that would be wise.” 

“Spock, quit being such a fun-sucker.  They’ll be all over it!  We can get the rest of the bridge crew to help us plan.” 

“This does not change the fact that the event is contingent on the outcome of this meeting.”

“Spock,” Jim says as we reach the door, and he is smiling.  “It’s gonna be us.” 

He knocks. 

“Enter!”

“Admiral Komack!” Jim says companionably, shaking Komack’s hand.  I offer him the ta’al, and he responds in kind. 

“Captain Kirk, Commander Spock,” he says by way of greeting. 

“Admiral,” I say. 

“You’re probably wondering why I’ve asked you to come here,” Komack begins.  His eyes are surprisingly friendly, and I realize Jim’s suspicions are most likely correct.

“Yes, sir, I believe we are,” Jim says, barely suppressing a smile.

“Well, I think I’ve got some good news for you two.  After everything that’s happened, you’ve both become something of a symbol to the Federation.  Kirk and Spock, saviors of the Earth, and all.”

Jim winces.  “I’m not so sure about that, sir.” 

“It’s how people see you, Kirk.  Point is, there’s no two better gentlemen to be commanding our flagship.  So, we’re giving the _Enterprise_ back to you.” 

“Thank you, sir.”  Jim knew we would receive the _Enterprise_ ; his nerves are present due to a much larger question.  I can feel Jim’s anticipation through our link.  Although it is not a full bond, I am capable of sensing his emotions when he is projecting, and we are able to speak nonverbally through skin-to-skin contact. 

“As I’m sure you are aware, Command has been discussing the assignment of Starfleet’s first deep space exploratory mission.  The mission will last five years, and its goal will to be explore uncharted regions of deep space and report the findings to Starfleet for our records.”

The Admiral pauses, and I am certain Jim has stopped breathing. 

“We’ve deliberated long and hard about who should receive the mission; it’s a great honor, but also a great responsibility.  There were several Admirals who wished to see the mission go to experienced Command teams, and I can see their reasoning. 

“I disagreed.  It took some convincing, but Captain, Commander,” he says, looking between us.  “We’re assigning you Starfleet’s first ever five year mission.” 

Blinding white light through the link and I can taste Jim’s happiness like it is my own; the thin strands of our connection blaze and I find myself halfway to a smile before I can temper the reaction. 

“Thank you, sir.  It’s an honor.” 

“I’ll be your Commanding Officer, and I’ll be assigning you your missions.  If you have any further questions about everything, feel free to direct them to me.”

Komack stands and extends his hand to Jim. 

“Thank you, Admiral.  It’ll be a pleasure working with you,” Jim says, shaking his hand.

“And Kirk?  Don’t fuck it up.” 

Jim laughs.  “I’ll try not to, sir.”   

We turn to exit, but he calls after us.  “Captain, Commander, one last thing.” 

“Yes, sir.”

“I’m sure that, when you announce this to your crew, they’re gonna have some questions.  I’ve heard rumors about some of your senior officers who may be engaged in romantic relationships.”

I freeze.

“Anyways, we’ve discussed it, and we’ve determined that, for a mission of this duration, relationships between crew members will be – conditionally – allowed.  Crew members will need to have regular check-ins with medical to ensure their performance won’t be compromised by the relationship, and we’ll need to have documentation of the relationship on file to cover our backs if anything _does_ occur.  We’re hoping these new measures will help to prevent many instances of space madness that we’ve seen in previous long-term missions.”

“Understood, sir.” 

“And Kirk,” Komack says, eyes flashing, “that goes for _all_ officers.” 

“Yes, sir.” 

“All right, get out of here and go spread the good news,” he says, waving his hand. 

“Thank you, sir.”  

Jim maintains his composure until we are outside, and then

“I _told_ you we were gonna get it!” he shouts.  “I fucking _knew_ it!”

“Jim, if you would lower your voice-”

“No _fucking way_ ,” Jim says. 

I attempt to keep walking, but Jim merely walks backwards so that he may continue to face me.  I am vividly reminded of his exuberance, nearly one year ago, as we made our way to Admiral Pike’s office together. 

So much has changed since then.  I do not know if I would have been able to fully realize my affections towards Jim if I had not seen him die.  He bounds next to me now, a shining bond of energy connecting our katras, and I am strangely grateful for what brought us together. 

“The re-christening will be in a couple weeks – they’ll probably send us out, what, a day or two after?  We’ll have to email everyone, get them in town – I say we plan the party for the night of the re-christening, so that way, everyone will be here-”

I allow his words to wash over me, warm and soft like the sands of Vulcan just after sunset.  More than ever, I desire a bond between us, now that Command has decided to allow relationships between crewmembers.

It can wait.  What matters now is Jim’s pure happiness at the prospect of being out in space once more. 

“We have to get the senior staff together,” Jim says, bouncing anxiously at my side as I unlock the door to our apartment.  It has long since ceased to be mine; Jim formally moved the last of his belongings on our three-month anniversary. 

To celebrate the occasion, we had gone to see the _Enterprise_. 

Jim and I were greeted with the cheers and waves we had come to expect from a visit to our ship, in addition to a much more complete exterior than had been finished upon our initial visit.  Jim had looked at the _Enterprise_ not with longing, but with unadulterated joy, and his fingers brushed mine as we walked side-by-side into the compound. 

“Cap’n, Commander!” Mr. Scott had greeted us as he worked on wiring in the lower decks that had been hit by the _Vengeance_. 

“Scotty!” Jim cried, embracing him.  “It’s been too long, man – we haven’t seen you and Uhura around at all!” 

“Hey now, the lads don’t know,” Mr. Scott said, laughing.  “You don’t want them going around talking about you and-”

“No, we definitely do not,” Jim interrupted, his smile widening.  We had gone on several “double dates” since disclosing our relationship to Nyota and Scotty; they were the only people we had told outside of Leonard.

“So, come on, give us a tour!”

We received a full walk-through of engineering, Scotty detailing the improvements he had made to the ship against my better judgment.  Jim’s enthusiasm, however, was infectious, and I began to gain an appreciation for the alterations, despite their potential dangers.

Much to Jim’s delight, we also encountered Chekov.  He was preoccupied with repairs of the transporter pad, but he and Jim embraced warmly and exchanged stories of their shore leave so far.  It pleased me to see Jim interact with the crew again; although he had gone out for drinks with Sulu since his return to San Francisco, Jim remained largely isolated, preoccupied with classes and meetings.  We have kept regular contact with most of the senior staff, but we have not all been together since the incident with Khan.  Over the past three weeks, the remaining crew has largely coalesced in San Francisco, anticipating news of the next mission.  We have a remarkable – and unprecedented – 99.3% return rate. 

I open the door and Jim immediately throws himself on our couch. 

“We should send out a message.  About the mission.”  He runs his hand through his hair distractedly.  “Five years, Spock!  Five years in space!”

I walk past him to the kitchen with the intention of making tea, and Jim follows, apparently unable to sit still. 

“No, you know what we should do?  Get together tonight, at that place on seventh.  Talk about it, drink a little-”

“I believe your definition of “little” varies greatly from my own interpretation,” I say as Jim wraps his arms around my waist, pressing insistently into my back.

“Drink a lot,” he amends, fingers skimming over my hipbones, underneath my tunic.  “Start planning the party of the decade,” he whispers, biting gently at the tip of my ear. 

I shiver.  “I still do not believe that is a wise idea-”

“Shhh,” he says into the skin of my neck.  “They’re gonna love it.”  

Jim’s hands move to the button on my pants, and I find myself too distracted to reply.

***

“Look at you two, all cozied up,” Nyota says as she and Scotty reach the table we have reserved for our party. 

“We aren’t _cozied up_ ,” Jim protests, even as his knee brushes mine. 

“I beg to differ,” she says, and they take seats across from us. 

I disclosed the status of my relationship with Jim to Nyota shortly after Jim’s mind was fully healed.

“I knew,” she said, surveying me over her mug of tea.  

“You did?” 

“ _Mapenzi ni kikohozi, hayawezi kufichika._ ” 

“I do not understand.” 

“Spock, I’ve known since before we broke up.  It’s _why_ I broke up with you.”

_I never knew.  I thought it was just your concern for him as your Captain.  How could I have known, Spock?  You say so little, and when you do talk, it’s about nothing at all._

_And then, you wouldn’t – well, I… Spock, what does the Captain mean to you?_

“ _Moyo huona mbali kuliko kichwa,_ ” I said softly. 

She smiled.  “It’s good you two are keeping it quiet, though.  We’ve never had a homosexual Command team in the history of Starfleet.” 

“Jim would say that there is a first time for everything; that Starfleet should be past homophobia.” 

Her eyes softened.  “But we both know that’s not quite true, is it?”

_You’re neither human nor Vulcan, and therefore have no place in this universe._

_He has human eyes.  They look sad, don’t they?_

_Perhaps an emotional response requires physical stimuli._

_He’s a traitor, you know, your father, for marrying her, that human whore._

“Yes.”   

Jim’s fingers touch mine under the table.  “We used to sit this close together all the time, on the _Enterprise_.”

“How do you think the rumors got started?”

Jim begins a retort, but

“Keptin!”

“Pasha!” Jim yells, and Nyota stands to give him a hug. 

“I feel like we haven’t seen you in ages!” she says, and her smile is radiant. 

“I haf been working!” he says, sitting down next to Scotty.  “Ze Commander knows, many experiments haf needed assistance.  Wery busy in the labs.” 

“Indeed, the destruction caused during the incident with Khan is still seeing its effects in Sciences.”

Sulu drops into the seat in between Chekov and myself.  “Jeez, Captain, haven’t even ordered a round for us yet?”

The assembled company bursts into laughter. 

“As soon as that old bag of bones shows, up-”

“Who the hell are you calling old?” Leonard takes the seat next to Jim, who beckons to a waitress.

“All right, not _too_ expensive, everyone, we don’t do this job for money, you know-”

They do not listen. 

“So, Cap, what’s the deal?” Sulu asks once everyone has a drink in their hand.  I sip my Altair water and wait for Jim to speak. 

“We got called in to talk to Komack today,” he begins, staring resolutely into his glass of beer. 

“And?” Scotty presses. 

“Well, he had some news for us,” Jim continues.  I suppress a smile; the apprehension of the group is tangible. 

“Damn it, Jim, just spit it out, did we get the mission or not?”

Jim pauses, and the table is utterly silent. 

“We got the mission.”

They erupt with cheers. 

“Fuckin’ _knew_ it!” Sulu roars. 

Leonard is the only one who does not look particularly pleased by the news. 

“Five whole years,” he says into his bourbon. 

“Chin up, Bones!” Jim says.  “Can’t go flying off into unexplored space without my best medical officer on board.” 

“It is a wery long time to be out in space, Keptin,” Chekov says, shrugging.  “For an awiophobe it is ewen more terrifying.” 

“It’s not like I can leave you all to die, though, can I?” Leonard says with a reluctant grin.  “Guess I’ll be coming too.” 

“Good man, Bones,” Jim says, clapping him on the shoulder. 

“Anyways, we thought we’d tell you all in person.  Also, Komack mentioned that we’re gonna be allowed, conditionally, to fraternize on this mission.”  He raises his eyebrows suggestively.

“Zat is good for you and ze Commander, yes?” Chekov says before draining the rest of his vodka. 

“Yeah, it – what?” Jim says, shaking his head slightly and rounding on Chekov. 

“Yeah, I’m sure you guys were worried about it, being a Command team and all,” Sulu adds, leaning back in his chair.   

“You guys – _how-_ ”

Nyota meets my gaze.  “There was a saying, in Kenya – _mapenzi ni kikohozi, hayawezi kufichika.”_

“Oh god, you knew all this time, didn’t you?” Jim says, burying his head in his hands.  “Spock, we need to get better at this secrecy shit.” 

“You weren’t subtle,” Leonard adds, and Jim glares at him. 

“Now that we’ve finished talking about my and Spock’s sex life, I feel like we should get planning.” 

“Jim, they’ll send us briefings-” Nyota begins, but Jim raises his hand and she stops talking. 

“No, I’m not talking about the mission, I’m talking about something much more important, something that’s gonna make the _Enterprise_ legendary.”

“Jim, I believe we have already achieved such a reputation.”

He glares at me.  “Spock, you’re killing my vibe here.  We’re gonna have a party for the crew, and it’s gonna be the best party the fucking _Federation_ has ever seen.” 

Sulu slams his fist on the table in concurrence.  “Yes!”

“Will there be wodka?” Chekov asks. 

“As much booze as we can get,” Jim says, grinning dangerously.  “So, who wants to help me plan?”

Much to my chagrin, everyone raises their hands.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Translations:  
> Nemusha - Sleep  
> las'hark - sun  
> Ina - No  
> khiori - star  
> Mapenzi ni kikohozi, hayawezi kufichika. - Love is like a cough, it cannot be concealed. 
> 
> One more chapter!!!! Thank you thank you thank you <33


	13. Stretched Out Beyond (Jim)

“God, I’m nervous.  Why’m I nervous?  I’ve saved the fucking Earth twice, I shouldn’t be nervous.”

“Jim,” Spock says, brushing my hair back from my forehead.  “You will do fine.  You are a natural public speaker.”

“Yeah, I _know_ , but this just,” I gesture vaguely, “feels different.” 

Spock touches his fingers to mine, and his trademark not-smile graces his face. 

_Taluhk nash-veh k’dular, las’hark._

The corners of my mouth twitch up against my will. 

_Khiori._

Spock rolls his eyes, and I burst out laughing. 

“Okay, okay, I got this.  You go get in formation, or whatever they’re having you do.  Love you,” I say, scraping my nails gently across the pads of his fingers. 

He shivers.  “And I you.  As I believe Terrans would say, “break a leg.””

And then he is gone, a ghost in the endless sea of gray in front of the platform where I’ll be speaking. 

“Captain, you all set?” a young woman asks.  Her eyes are the same color as Bones’, and I feel a little bit of anxiety fade from my system. 

“Yeah, let’s do this shit.” 

The crowd is silent as I take the podium, and I begin to speak.

The words are awkward, at first, to my ears – halting, informal, too professional, too Starfleet, too political.  Not enough to describe the loss of life, the tragedy that has undergone the Federation over the course of the past two years.  Like each life lost didn’t mean the world to someone, just because that person didn’t mean much to the world.

I take a deep breath, because this isn’t the speech I want to give, and glance up, finding Spock easily in the crowd of pink faces.

He nods, and I go off-script. 

“There will always be those who mean to do us harm.”

_The revolution is successful. But survival depends on drastic measures. Your continued existence represents a threat to the well-being of society. Your lives mean slow death to the more valued members of the colony. Therefore, I have no alternative but to sentence you to death._

_Well, Kirk... it seems apt to return you to your crew. After all, no ship should go down without her Captain._

“To stop them, we risk awakening the same evil within ourselves.”

_You remember the way it felt when you held the knife, jabbed it into his skin, one thrust at a time.  You remember how it felt to hold a life in your hands, and to have complete control over whether it lived or died.  We could have taken the knife, that night, you know, and driven him out of the cave.  He didn’t have to die.  But you killed him.  You_ enjoyed _it._

_Some people are nobody's enemies but their own._

“Our first instinct is to seek revenge when those we love are taken from us.”

_You feel_ nothing _!  It must not even_ compute _for you!  You_ never _loved her!_

_Admiral, sir, he's not on Earth. He's on Kronos, sir. I request my command be reinstated and your permission to go after him._

_How I ever thought you didn’t know the pain that accompanies the loss of someone you love._

“But that’s not who we are.  We are here today to rechristen the USS _Enterprise_ , and to honor those who lost their lives, nearly one year ago.”

_Do you think they’ll memorialize all the people who died at the Academy?  All the ‘Fleet members who died, giving their lives, as soldiers, during the process?  Almost a whole race gets wiped from the sky, and all they do is create a Federation-wide day of mourning._

 “When Christopher Pike first gave me his ship, he had me recite the Captain’s Oath. Words I didn't appreciate at the time.”

_I can't listen.  You don't comply with the rules, you don't take responsibility for anything, and you don't respect the chair. You know why? Because you're not ready for it._

“But now I see them as a call for us to remember who we once were and who we must be again.”

_When I joined Starfleet, I thought I was doing it to become an explorer – finding new reaches of space, seeking out new life and new civilizations.  I thought I was joining the humanitarian and peace-keeping armada Pike wouldn’t shut up about._

_I never thought I’d become a soldier._

_And if anybody deserves a second chance, it’s Jim Kirk._

“Space, the final frontier.”

_A five-year mission, Spock!  That’s deep space, that’s uncharted territories! Think how incredible that’s gonna be._  

“These are the voyages of the starship _Enterprise_.”

_Our ship._

“Her five year mission:”

_It took some convincing, but Captain, Commander… We’re assigning you Starfleet’s first ever five year mission._

_Thank you, sir.  It’s an honor._

“to explore strange new worlds,”

_Captain, did the indigenous life form see you?_

_No, Mr. Spock, they did not!_

 “to seek out new life and new civilizations,”

_The Prime Directive clearly states there can be no interference with the internal development of alien civilization._

_I know what it says, which is why I'm running through the jungle wearing a disguise! Now, drop out your super ice cube and let's go!_

“to boldly go where no one has gone before.”

***

Music pounding bass pumping bumping bodies grinding hormones and sex and sweat

_Lately I been, I been losing sleep_

“Nyota, what kind of music is this?” I shout over two fingers of whiskey.  The bar is already spinning, but it isn’t nearly out of focus enough. 

_Dreaming about the things that we could be_

“Good music!” she yells before throwing down a shot and turning the glass over on the counter.  Scotty mimics her, but I can tell even in the limited light of the club that his face is flushed. 

_But baby, I been, I been prayin’ hard_

“Sounds old!” I pour her another shot. 

_Said no more counting dollars_

She drains it.  “You’re old,” she says, wrinkling her nose at the booze.

_We’ll be counting stars_

“C’mon Scotty, she’s drinking you under the table!”

_Yeah we’ll be counting stars_

“Yeah,” Nyota adds, “aren’t you supposed to be from Scotland?”

_I see this life_

Scotty tips back another and grimaces.  “The lass is a menace!”

_Like a swinging vine_

“You’re gonna have to get used to it, _Monty_ ,” I laugh, clapping him on the shoulder. 

_Swing my heart across the line_

“Y’all seen Spock?”

_In my face is flashing signs_

“With Chekov!” Nyota says, grabbing Scotty’s shoulder for balance. 

_Seek it out and ye shall find_

“God damn it, I told him _no work_!”

_Old, but I’m not that old_

“Spock hates fun!” she yells after me. 

_Young, but I’m not that bold_

“Spock!” I say, coming up behind him and touching his lower back just briefly before pulling up a chair at his and Chekov’s table. 

_And I don’t think the world is sold_

“Jim,” Spock says, and he’s just drinking Altair water and that’s not gonna do _at all_

_I’m just doing what we’re told_

“Jesus, Pash, how much have you had to drink?”

_I feel something so right_

“Not enough,” he says, pouring himself another tumbler’s worth of vodka from the near-empty bottle sitting on the table.

_By doing the wrong thing_

My hand moves to Spock’s knee.  “Where’s Karu?”

_And I feel something so wrong_

I feel lust streaming through the link, and I resist the urge to kiss him. 

_Doing the right thing_

“He went to dance,” Chekov says. 

_I couldn’t lie, couldn’t lie, couldn’t lie_

“Jesus Christ, kid, go dance with him!”

_Everything that kills me makes me feel alive_

I touch my fingers to Spock’s, and he doesn’t pull away. 

_Lately I been, I been losing sleep_

“Keptin!” Chekov says, scandalized. 

_Dreaming about the things that we could be_

“Hey, no frat regs, right?” I say, grinning.  I flag down one of the bartenders. 

_But baby, I been, I been prayin’ hard_

“Hikaru iz not-”

_Said no more counting dollars_

I slide my Captain’s mask into place, and Pasha is out of his chair in less than two seconds. 

_We’ll be counting stars_

“Hey, anything that’ll get a Vulcan drunk, ok?” I say to the bartender. 

_I feel the love_

I move my hand to rest fully on Spock’s, and he freezes. 

_And I feel it burn_

“Jim, I am not sure that is an advisable course of action-”

_Down this river every turn_

“I think you’re thinking too much.”

_Hope is our four letter word_

The bartender comes back, and I press the drink into Spock’s hands.

_Make that money, watch it burn_

“Drink it!”

_Old, but I’m not that old_

He drains the glass, and I match him. 

_Young, but I’m not that bold_

The room moves around me and the lights seem to play on the walls and the floor and I am pulling Spock to his feet

_And I don’t think the world is sold_

“Jim, what are you doing-” he protests as I pull him towards the mass of grinding bodies on the dance floor. 

_I’m just doing what we’re told_

“We’re dancing.”

_And I feel something so wrong_

“The entire crew can see us, Jim.”

_By doing the right thing_

“I don’t think I care.”  I place my hands firmly on his hips and lead him into the crowd; his tight black shirt blends in with the rest of the casual dress and we are anonymous and heat flows through my veins from the alcohol and lust

_I couldn’t lie, couldn’t lie, couldn’t lie_

My leg in between his and his breath is hot against my ear as I tug our bodies closer and we begin to rock together

_Everything that drowns me makes me want to fly_

We’re in a sea of people but his hands are still hanging disconnected and I grab one, drawing it to my waist, and he follows my example; his long fingers dig bruises into my flesh and I’m hard and hot against his thigh and I feel his heartbeat quicken where my hand rests at his side

_Lately, I been, I been losing sleep_

Sweat slicked skin slides together and our noses brush

_Dreaming about the things that we could be_

My fingers underneath his shirt and our link ignites his heat is mine

_But baby, I been, I been prayin’ hard_

His hands wander down to clutch at the curve of my ass, draws me closer

_Said no more counting dollars_

Our mouths meet and we’re making out like teenagers in front of our entire crew

_We’ll be counting stars_

His lips are fevered and hot and insistent against my own

_Take that money_

I bite down and the link flares brighter with desire

_Watch it burn_

Our noses bump, uncoordinated but we don’t care

_Sink in the river_

Hips grinding against mine and I want to get back to our bed

_The lessons I’ve learned_

I hear someone gasp nearby but we don’t pull away

_Everything that kills me makes me feel alive_. 

***

Light, glaring and insistent on my eyes and I pull the covers over my head –

“The _fuck_ , Spock, my _God-_ ”

“Jim, I have let you sleep as long as possible.  If you recall, you are due at the shuttle bay at 1100.” 

“No, this is too fucking early,” I say into my pillow, avoiding the sunlight.  “This is too much, Spock, my head’s gonna fucking explode.” 

“I assumed as much, which is why I commed Leonard.” 

I freeze. 

“Wait, what did you just say-”

A hypospray hisses against my neck. 

“ _Fuck_ , Bones!  Are you kidding?  I didn’t even consume anything poisonous this time!”

“Alcohol _is_ poisonous, you infant,” comes Bones’ voice.  Reluctantly, I look up from the pillow to glare at him. 

“What the fuck did you just give me?”

“Hangover hypo, so quit complaining.  You’ll be thanking me.” 

“Ugh,” I say, and I bury my face back in the pillow.  “You’re the worst.” 

“Get up, you reek of booze and you need a shower,” Bones says, and I finally flip over onto my back. 

“Are you offering?”

He rolls his eyes.  “Better not let Spock hear you saying that, I’ve heard Vulcans can be a bit protective over their mates.”

Spock reenters the room with a cup of coffee.  “What was that, Leonard?”

“Nothing, you green-blooded hobgoblin.”  He turns back to me.  “Well, I gotta take off, I have to go check in on medical and make sure we’ve got all the supplies we need before we leave spacedock.  I’ll comm you and let you know,” he adds, anticipating my next question. 

“Thanks, Bones,” I say, and he leaves the room. 

“I take it you’re leaving early, too?” I ask, eyeing Spock’s uniform. 

“Affirmative.  I am also your Science Officer, if you recall,” he says with a slight upturn of his lips. 

“Fine, fine, leave me to ride the shuttle alone!” I say, waving my hands emphatically.  “Get out of my sight.” 

His fingers meet mine.  “As you wish, Captain.” 

“See you on the Bridge?” I ask, grinning. 

“Affirmative.” 

“Love you.” 

“I love you, too.”

***

Her halls are familiar, and yet they’re sparkling with cleanliness; the scent of fresh plastic fills the air.  She had looked magnificent on the flight in – beautiful, sleek, completely repaired, ready for a fresh start. 

_Like me._  

The turbolift doors open onto the Bridge, and I feel a sort of swelling in my chest as I look around at my crew.  This is where I’m meant to be.  This is home. 

“Keptin on the bridge,” Chekov says, and I walk over to the chair, which Sulu’s currently inhabiting. 

“It’s hard to get out of it once you got a taste.  Isn’t that right, Mr. Sulu?”

He stands, grinning.  “Captain does have a nice ring to it.  The chair’s all yours, sir.”

I resist the urge to clap him on the back as he returns to his station.  Sulu will make a great Captain someday. 

I take my seat and press the comm button.  “Mr. Scott, how’s our core?”

“Purring like a kitten, Captain.  She’s ready for a long journey.” 

“Excellent.” 

I notice Doctor Marcus over at one of the stations, and Bones, who’s just come onto the bridge to see us off – he’s brooding, eyebrows drawn together as he stares resentfully out the viewscreen.

“Come on, Bones.  It’s gonna be fun.”

He shakes his head.  “Five years in space.  God help me.”

I move past him until I reach Carol’s station.  “Doctor Marcus, uh…” I begin, and I’ve suddenly forgotten what I was about to say.  “I’m glad you could be a part of the family,” I finish lamely, offering her a smile. 

“It’s nice to have a family,” she says. 

_I had what I’d always wanted I had a ship and I had a crew and_ family

Spock is waiting by the chair. 

“Spock.”

“Captain,” he says, not-smile plastered all across his face. 

We stand side by side, like we always have, and always will.

“Where should we go?”

“As a mission of this duration has never been attempted, I defer to your good judgment, Captain.” 

I can’t help smiling as I watch him return to his station – despite everything that the universe tried to do to keep us apart, we pulled through.  We will always pull through.  

As I sit back down and turn towards the viewscreen, I think about something Spock once showed me in a meld – a hologram and a message, enclosed in a pendant that’s traveled across universes. 

_You once said being a starship captain was my first, best destiny… if that’s true, then yours is to be by my side.  If there’s any true logic to the universe… we’ll end up on that bridge again someday._

I feel Spock’s katra shimmer where it’s connected to my own, a positive feedback loop of longing and wonder, joy and hope. 

“Mr. Sulu, take us out.”

“Yes, sir.”

I glance at Spock, who’s looking back at me.  He smiles, and the expression is reserved just for me – in that moment, it’s just us, our ship, and the universe, laid out in front of us, awaiting discovery. 

_Though my soul may set in darkness, it will rise in perfect light;  
I have loved the stars too fondly to be fearful of the night._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> THANK YOU THANK YOU THANK YOU! Thank you for all your support, kind words, and kudos - they really do mean the world to me! If any of you liked it enough to rec it, that would be superb too - I know some of you already have, and I appreciate it to no end! <33 You are all magnificent people, and thank you for being with me through this journey!

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for everything - I love you all! You can follow my star trek blog on tumblr at tthylas.tumblr.com if you want <33


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